The holidays can be exceptionally difficult for those grieving the loss of someone they love so dearly. As we approach our second Christmas without Abigail, I realize many want to love the grieving well but long for some guidance on how to do so. I have talked to numerous grieving parents (and some with other griefs), and many of the same themes continue to surface regarding the pain of the holiday season. We've talked about what we wish people knew or considered. The following is written from the perspective of a grieving parent because, frankly that's what I know. Although I do suspect many of the same principles apply to those grieving other losses as well. Admittedly not all grieving people feel the same way, thus when in doubt start a conversation with the one in your life who is showing up day after day in a season that often leaves them feeling so lonely. The following is not an exhaustive list by any means. Prayerful consideration on how to intentionally love well is first and foremost.
1. Say their names. Talk about their child (or person if grieving another loss). Ask them to tell you about the one whose absence has left a hole in their hearts and lives. This is one of the most common themes of silent hurt I've encountered with fellow grieving people. By refusing to speak their names the pain of holiday gatherings is amplified. Whether from kindhearted intentions, ignorance, or a selfish desire to avoid hard conversations it often seems as though others have forgotten or swept the life (and death) of our beloved child under the rug for the sake of tidiness. You will not amplify the sting of life without their child by saying their name, although you may very well contribute to amplified hurt by refusing to do so. We want to speak of our children, and to hear others do the same. Their life mattered; it still does. Grieving parents don't want to have to worry about an awkward silence if they mention their child's name with tears or laughter, anguish or joy.
2. Think twice before sending a photo Christmas card. A friend unacquainted with this type of grief recently had the courage to ask me how I viewed Christmas cards. Last year another told me she intentionally left me off her photo card mailing list, which of course I had recognized and greatly appreciated. I recently had a conversation with another believing and waiting mama about the piercing pain of checking the mail between Thanksgiving and New Years. Inevitably the photo cards of intact families pour in. Imagine the scene and his uncle in the Harry Potter movies when the Hogwarts letters start flying in one after another. We both confessed to realizing (after excruciating trial and error) that in order to protect our hearts photo cards went straight to the trash without being opened if possible. We both felt like terrible people. It's not as if any grieving parent would wish this pain on anyone else or begrudge them their intact families, but we long for the moment of pause to consider if such a card is really in the best interest of our families. Christmas photo cards are like banners screaming, "look what you're missing!" as though we could possibly forget. Many of us haven't even had the courage to have our own family photos taken since our child left this earth. Shortly after our conversation I came across a social media thread where other grieving parents were discussing this very issue. It proved to me my friend and I are not alone. The general consensus was very much the same. If we consider it rude to smoke in front of someone trying to quit smoking or to complain about knee arthritis to the amputee, it would be worth considering how such cards affect families who ache for one they can never again hold this side of Heaven. I gather it is the insensitivity (likely unintentional) that most bothers grieving parents who struggle with Christmas photo cards, not the fact other families are spared such pain. If in doubt, ask. We generally truly appreciate when people ask. On the other hand, an intentionally picked card or handwritten note that lets a grieving family know you're thinking of them and praying for them in a season that isn't always merry and bright is a sweet salve on a gaping wound.
Like one who takes away a garment on a cold day, or like vinegar poured on soda, is one who sings songs to a heavy heart. Proverbs 25:20
4. Be patient. Realize merely being among the throngs of merrymakers often requires all the physical and emotional energy at our disposal. It's ok to invite the griever but make it clear you understand if we need to change our mind at the last minute. We may need to know who will be present so as to adequately prepare or consider if it's in our or our family's best interest to go. We may show up because it's in the best interest of some in our family, but for us it is searingly brutal. We may retreat. Our eyes may spontaneously start leaking because of a triggering conversation or event. We will not laugh at all the same things, but if we do laugh it does not mean our pain is any less. We may need to escape to a secluded place for a moment alone or a good cry; we may need to leave early without an explanation. To all around we may at times appear "fine", but we have not forgotten. We are no longer who we once were. Some are relieved by this; many also grieve this as well. Whether it is expected or not by our friends or family, there is often a pressure to "put on a mask". Rest assured mask wearing is a heavy and weary business.
5. Lament. Grief isn't linear; it isn't tidy. We will never "get over" the death of our child. God's grace and faithful presence will carry us day by day, but we will rely upon Him to do so until the day we too are Home. Avoid platitudes and misapplied scripture. Be intentional. Be a voice for regular and welcome lament in your churches and families. I'm realizing many who know what lament is or even kindly acknowledge its benefits still view it as something to be one and done, as though to continue lamenting is equitable with being "stuck." They view "moving forward" as outside of and detached from lament. In all actuality, lament is the way forward in this broken world. Forward, not through. Through gives the impression there is an end this side of Heaven. For some of this world's griefs that may be true, but not for the loss of a child. We will lament this until the day the Lord calls us home.
Thank you for loving us. We understand it isn't always easy to do so. For those in our lives who have shown up, pressed in, said their names, ministered to broken hearts, lamented with us, and acknowledged there is nothing of this world to remove our pain: thank you. We see you. We love you.
Love is patient, love is kind... It does not dishonor others; it is not self-seeking...It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 Corinthians 13:4-7
*photos are a sample of grief gifts that may be found at LittleCricketGifts - Etsy
Comments
Post a Comment