Jo sweetheart,
I had a friend who lost her little girl hours after birth a few months ago and it's so hard to know what to do or say to help. ALL of my love and thoughts are with you. If you ever need to talk please PM me or email me.....we are all here for you honey.
Hope these help a little:
A Child Loaned
(written by Edgar Guest, published in
the Fort Worth Star mid 1930s)
************
"Ill lend you for a little time
A child of Mine," He said.
"For you to love the while she lives,
And mourn for when shes dead.
It may be six or seven years
Or twenty-two or three,
But will you, till I call her back
Take care of her for Me?
Shell bring her charms to gladden you,
And should her stay be brief,
Youll have her lovely memories
As solace for your grief.
I cannot promise she will stay,
Since all from Earth return,
But there are lessons taught down there
I want this child to learn.
Ive looked this wide world over
In My search for teachers true,
And from the throngs that crowd lifes lanes,
I have selected you;
Now will you give her all your love,
Nor think the labour vain,
Nor hate Me when I come to call
And take her back again ?
I fancied that I heard them say,
"Dear Lord, Thy will be done,
For all the joy Thy child shall bring,
For the risk of grief well run.
Well shelter her with tenderness,
Well love her while we may,
And for the happiness weve known,
Forever grateful stay.
But should the angels call for her
Much sooner then we planned,
Well brave the bitter grief that comes
And try to understand
My child has died - what can you do to help?
Please don't ask "how are you?" unless you really want to know the answer...
"How are you?" has become a meaningless greeting to which the expected answer is "fine". But I am not fine. At best I'm a bit fragile and a lot of the time I'm far worse - I feel upset, hurt, bewildered, angry, guilty. But these and other normal feelings which follow the death of someone you love are not the things of polite conversation. So if you are not prepared to hear about them, choose another way to greet me.
Don't expect too much of me too soon....
If I'd broken my leg I'd have a plaster cast on and you wouldn't expect me to get back to normal for months. You can't put broken feelings in plaster and you can't see the scars. But they need time to heal and I need time to come to terms with the realization that "normal" from now on is life without my child.
Don't ignore the death or the child that died...
You wouldn't have any trouble talking about good news. If I'd just won Lotto it would be the first thing you would mention. Bad news is different - you probably don't know what to say or how to say it. But the death of my child is the most important thing in my life and it helps to acknowledge that.
Be honest, and try to avoid platitudes...
"This is awful, I don't know what to say" is far more help than cliched phrases that aren't true anyway. Time alone doesn't heal, the fact we've got each other is irrelevant because two drowning people can't save each other and there is no comfort in the thought of this misery being God's will.
Don't think that having, or being able to have, other children will lessen the pain of my child's death...
A child who loses a favorite toy will not be placated by a substitute. And so it is with people. I loved my child for who he was as an individual, not as an interchangeable piece in a set and mourning for him, at least at first, will strain rather than strengthen bonds with other children.
If you want to help, make specific offers not empty promises...
Saying "if there's anything I can do" might make you feel good, but I'm unlikely to take you up because I probably don't know what I need and I'm unsure what your "anything" means. However if you turn up with food, an offer to baby-sit, or just a listening ear, your kindness will be gratefully accepted.
Practice, don't preach...
However weak or strong my faith, and whatever your beliefs, this is no time for sermons.
Be sensitive...
I find it hard to believe life in the outside world is still going on when my private world has collapsed. I hope my child's death won't leave me bitter. But it will take me time before the weight of my own feelings lightens enough to allow me to share your joys or sorrows.
Don't expect me to follow a prescribed pattern of grieving...
Denial, anger, guilt, depression and acceptance are all stages in the grief process but no two people will go through them in the same way. I'll have good days and bad days, sometimes I'll cope with a lot, at other times I'll be phased by little things. It may seem illogical to you, but then feelings often are.
Don't confuse control with coping...
A stiff upper lip probably means I've got a tight rein on my feelings, not that I have come to terms with them. You may not be comfortable with crying or screaming but they are far healthier than numbness, which is a sign of denial.
Keep in touch...
I'll always be grateful for the practical and moral support you gave immediately after the death and I know you have to get on with your life. But grief doesn't end with the funeral and occasional phone call, note or visit will let me know you haven't forgotten.
The death of my child has left me emotionally and spiritually shattered. It will take time to put the pieces together again, to rebuild relationships. But when things get really bad, knowing there is a friend who cares may be all I need to tip the balance in favour of recovery.
(Something you might want to copy and give other people.
Written by Elspeth Ludemann. First published in "North and South" (New Zealand) in March 1991).
Sorry if you found these upsetting but I think they are so true!!
HUGE HUGS!!!!
