The death of a child is hard. There’s something wrong about parents burying their children. That’s not the natural order of things but it happens. I’ve had several friends who’ve had to bury their children.
It’s a reality that most of us who have kids with disability fear. I came across a draft of a letter I had written for a neighbor when she lost her little girl. The pain of that loss was suffocating.
No one knows how long we have to live. Some people live to see grandkids, great-grandkids or even great-great-grandkids. Others grace our lives for only several hours. Just long enough to be named, held and treasured. And long enough to capture our hearts.
It’s unfair and no words can ease the pain of that loss. I Cor 15:55 asks, ‘O death, where is your sting?’ For those who have died, death isn’t the end of their story. It’s the beginning of their life in eternity. But for those of us on this side of eternity, the sting of death is very real. The death of a loved one is an ache that never goes away.
This was not the way my neighbor imagined her daughter’s future. It was an unthinkable tragedy. And the unexpectedness of it all intensified the grief. One moment her daughter was alive and the next moment she was gone. No warning. No premonition. Nothing.
How do you comfort a grieving mother? Are their even words that could comfort her?
The advice I received from a friend who lost her baby was to allow them to share their grief. Give them the freedom to talk about what’s on their heart. Let them show you pictures and talk about memories. They aren’t looking for solutions. They need to vent and they’re looking for someone who will listen.
Allow them to express their sadness even if it takes longer than expected or it makes you feel uncomfortable they’re still sad. Taking the time to share their burden, lightens their load. This is what my friend says helped her the most.