A Rainbow Doesn't Heal All

Experiences of others that I've read indicated child loss was individualized, that there are usually some kind of similarities between experiences of mourning such that mourning can teach one empathy for another mourner, that faith can help one find solace, and, above all, the secret to healing from grief is to have a rainbow baby.  The new baby isn't supposed to replace the old baby, but mothers and father everywhere are supposed to find comfort in a new baby. 

This is one of many reasons I kept praying for a rainbow baby.  Instead, I tacked loss upon loss until my loss count was a lot higher than my live birth count.  I have had three live births, one of whom passed at four months, plus 15+ miscarriages, and we've found peace with giving up the futile efforts of talking my body into giving live birth.  People will often equate pregnancy with expecting.  After a while, the only thing I began to expect with another pregnancy was yet another loss.  I was never to find out for myself if a rainbow baby would help or hinder the healing process.  But that's okay because pregnancy and fragile babies became causes of fear rather than joy for me.  

With my expectation that healing can become more complete with the advent of a rainbow baby, I was surprised when people we knew had their rainbow, and it wasn't all happiness and joy.  I know they've had a lot of happiness and joy with their new pink bundle, but everything their new baby does makes them yearn to have their older little girl to be there to enjoy the experience.  They keep wishing that their departed angel could see this or be part of that.  Instead of having

perfect bliss with their rainbow, they've had new kinds of heartache.  I had no idea this would happen.  

I guess the real moral here is expectations for someone else's grieving experience don't help.  Our expectations in the face of someone else's raw pain really mean nothing.  Phrases like, "Shouldn't you move on?" or anything that follows "at least" are attempts to force our own expectations on someone else.  Even trying to manipulate our own grieving experience according to how things should be doesn't help.  Grieving is what it is. All we can do is accept what is and seek solace and peace and seek to offer solace and peace to others.  We can't tell people they're doing it wrong or feel like we're doing it wrong because there is no right or wrong about mourning, grief, or loss.  We can plead with the Lord to carry our burdens, but that doesn't mean all pain will be gone.  He can heal our hearts, but it does take time and may never be complete in this lifetime.  We certainly can't expect everyone else to do the same.  What we can do is love and support each other and allow ourselves to be loved and supported when we need it.  Accept and respect others in how they need to mourn, and healing will come a lot faster.  

Finding a Kindred Souls

A year or two ago, I met a woman who had grown up in the same area in which I'd lived and worked for a year and a half.  We made that connection, and we've chatted occasionally since.  Recently, I talked about my losses.  That's when she mentioned she, too, had lost a child, and recently, too.  I had had no idea.  I gather she figured my losses were so intense that her one second-term miscarriage didn't compare.  She just never brought it up.  We never know who may be a member of the empty arms/mothers of angels club.

I never wanted someone to feel somehow of a lesser rank in that club or that her loss was any less painful.  There really shouldn't be any ranking at all.  Yes, some of us have had more losses than others.  Some of us have had later losses than others or more recently losses.  But we're all members of that club of loss, a membership we wouldn't wish on anyone because the dues are too high.  It's a membership that teaches empathy and understanding that can't be taught or learned in any other way. It makes me feel bad that she somehow feels awkward mentioning her loss with me.  We should all be brothers and sisters in this club.  We all understand what real pain is.

I'm thankful that she did share with me.  Sharing implies trust.  When you're a person in mourning, it's hard to know who we can trust because some people respond in more supporting ways than others to our professions of grieving.  We often walk around like everyone else, saying nothing about our loss for fear of painful words.  When we do say something, we're hoping for the right words or touch or contact of any sort that will make our pain feel that much more bearable.  I would wish that all around me who have suffered loss would feel I was a person with whom they could share their hearts without worry that I'd cause them added pain. I pray the words I say to someone in mourning are the words that will help them feel loved.  Always.

Empathy (or what not to say)

Learning from Mistakes:

I remember with some pain remarks I made to someone who had miscarried several babies.  I had not entered the angel mommies’ club.  I didn’t know what it was to experience real loss.  I said things like, “So when are you going to have a baby?”  I knew this couple had issues with keeping babies, but it seemed like I had been able to have babies without trouble.  What was wrong with them?  I was insensitive when I needed to be kind and understanding. I have since run into the same kind of hurtful behaviors when I was most in pain. When one has lost a baby, it’s hard for others to know what to say.  It’s easier to say or do the wrong thing than the right thing.  So let’s go over a list of the things not to do.  This list is by no means exhaustive.  I've based it on things I wanted (or didn't want) when I suffered my losses as well as a few things I've heard from others over the years.    

NOT to do list:

1.  Avoid.  Some avoid the mourner because they don’t  want to be reminded it could happen to them.  Reminders of mortality can be hard.  But it's harder on the mourner to be treated as a contagion.  

2. Assume.  Never assume you know how the mourner is feeling.  Even if you've lost a child, every mourner has a different experience.  The phrase, "I understand" is rarely a good choice because sometimes, even a husband doesn't truly understand what his wife is feeling and vice versa nor even may a sister know what her sister is feeling.  There are often commonalities, but everyone's specific experience is unique.  Even a hug without permission is an assumption.  It's usually best to let the mourner lead.  Offer a hug, and they often will accept.  Just don't assume.  

2b. False comparisons.  This is more a follow-up to not assuming.  Although those who have never lost a child assume it's comforting to say, "I know how you feel because my cat died once," it's often best not to make a comparison between one's own experience and someone else's.  We can still draw on the feelings of loss we've felt through the loss of a house or a cat or whatever is precious to us to empathize without verbalizing that comparison. Pets can be precious to us, but I have lost pets of many kinds.  There is no real comparison between the pain of pet or possession loss and the pain of child loss.

3. Tell them how to feel.  A lot of people think it's reassuring to tell a mourner, "You should feel better because your baby is with God" or "You should feel better because this is part of a bigger plan" or "You should feel better because you'll see the baby again."  Although all of this may be true and may be understood by the mourner, it does not help or ease the pain of the mourner to be told how to think and feel.  Even leaving off the "You should feel better," this is implied by the rest of the statement.  Sure, I know I'll hold my baby again, but when I'm suffering so badly I can hardly hold my guts inside, so badly I feel like I'm going to explode, to be told I shouldn't be suffering makes the pain worse.  It makes me feel like I'm doing the wrong thing in feeling pain.  And we all must understand grieving is a natural part of the process.  Even though the one attempting to comfort isn't really thinking about it, they're often saying these things to make themselves feel better.  It hurts to see someone in pain, so they are essentially trying to shut the mourner up, control them to stop their own discomfort.  This is not true of everyone trying to use these phrases to comfort, but that's how they may be perceived.  

4. Imply a child can be replaced.  First off, usually anything following, "Well, at least" is a really bad idea.  "Well, at least you can have another child" is one of the worst.  It implies a new child simply replaces the one they lost.  Although for many, a new child can take the edge off the pain in some ways, there is no replacing a child.  "Well, at least you have other children," is almost as bad.  It implies to the mourner that this child doesn't mean anything, that their loss doesn't count because they already have children.  Any "Well, at least" phrases are likely to make a person feel less rather than more comforted.  

5. Try to force your expectations on them.  Expecting someone to get over it devalues the person's loss and implies judgement, that another person should have control over the mourner's grieving process.    

6. Add more responsibility than can be handled by a recent mourner.  A lot of non-mourners think showing up without much warning would be comforting.  The day of my first miscarriage, my sister wanted to drive all the way up from her home to mine.  In her mind, this should have been comforting to me.  In my mind, I just wanted to be alone with my kids and my husband.  I didn't want to be expected to smile and perform for others when all I wanted to do was cry.  Sometimes, such a visit is comforting to the mourner.  Once again, don't assume.  As an added note, a lot of people seeking to comfort brought me live plants for my baby's funeral.  Some people may find this comforting.  I found it painful to watch the plants die but didn't have enough energy to take care of them.  Sometimes, it's all the mourner can do to continue to breathe.  Don't add to their burden.  

To Do List:

1.  Offer.  Offer to be there, to watch kids, to hug, to donate money, to make food, whatever.  Offer so that the mourner knows you care and are willing to help in whatever way you can.  This can help relieve the person's stress, but don't assume it necessarily reduces the pain.    

2.  Respect the mourner's lead.  As mentioned before, it's usually best to let the mourner dictate the pace.  If they want live flowers, a visit from family, a hug, etc, they can let the comforter know.   If the person declines, respect that without trying to insert your own emotions on the subject.  You may be disappointed they don't want your help, but let it slide.  They're suffering.  Don't expect them to react like you want them to react.  

3. Pray for them.  I could feel the prayers even during the worst of my pain.  It felt like a warm, protective bubble.  If you tell them you're praying for them, they know you love them.  

4.  Support them in whatever way they need to mourn.  If they need to cry, let them cry.  If they need to talk, let them talk.  If they need silence or privacy, give them what they need rather than what you think they should need.  

5.  Love them, no matter what.  It's a good idea to let them know this, but don't use it to control them.  Unconditional love is the key.  Sometimes, a person in their deepest pain is not very lovable.  Love them, anyway.  

    Conclusion:

Mourning is a hard thing for those suffering as well as for those watching them suffer.  We want to help them feel better.  And feeling better will happen with time.  It's critically important that we be the helper rather than the unintentional inflicter of wounds.  Don't hide.  Don't make things harder.  Just be there.  Love.  Healing comes with time.  If we're there for the mourner in times of need, they may one day be there for us.