Sunny Side Up Feb5, 2003 � Kathleen Gibson May God comfort all mourning parents One of the hardest things I�ve ever done was go with my sister to tell our parents that our oldest sister, their first child, had died. When they�d left her hospital room only minutes earlier, they�d never meant their good-bye to be permanent. We spoke as clearly as possible, given our own grieving posture. But I�ll always remember their complete lack of comprehension. It isn�t natural, after all. Parents were never meant to bury their children. A few minutes later they stood again at her bedside. Rounding the corner to go to the other side, someone bumped the bed. My mother gasped. �She moved! See?� Her eagerness shredded my heart. �No, Mommy. I just bumped the bed.� She sat down, deflated. Wrapped herself in silence and stared at the daughter who was never meant to go to heaven first. Dad picked up one of Sandra�s hands. �Sandra,� he said. I barely recognized his voice. �When you were little I could never keep up with those long legs of yours. Remember?� We heard his next thoughts as clearly as if he�d spoken them. �And there you go again, going on ahead, same as ever.� It wasn�t natural, I tell you. But the week I�m writing this has been a heartrending public example that it happens. Seven teenagers, buried in an avalanche. Seven astronauts killed in a horrific aeronautic disaster, only fifteen minutes before their eager families expected them to touch down. In my own community, parents and grandparents mourned the extinguishing of one of our tiniest lights�six year old Emily, struck down by leukemia. God understands the mourning song best of all. �Blessed are those who mourn,� Jesus said. �They shall be comforted.� I�ve experienced that comfort. But how do we help a parent who�s lost a child? How do we comfort the friend ejected into the alien landscape of the kind of grief that hollows out the soul? I can�t tell you�I�ve never lost a child. But this poem, written by Rita Moran, a Florida mother who lost a daughter to cancer, helped me. PLEASE PLEASE, don�t ask me if I�m over it yet. I�ll never be over it. PLEASE, don�t tell me she�s in a better place. She isn�t here with me. PLEASE, don�t say she isn�t suffering. I haven�t come to terms with why she had to suffer at all. PLEASE, don�t tell me you know how I feel unless you have lost a child. PLEASE, don�t ask me if I feel better. Bereavement isn�t a condition that clears up. PLEASE, don�t tell me �at least you had her for so many years.� What year would you choose for your child to die? PLEASE, don�t tell me God never gives us more than we can bear. PLEASE, just say you�re sorry. PLEASE, just say you remember my child, if you do. PLEASE, just let me talk about my child. PLEASE, mention my child�s name. PLEASE, just let me cry. ************* If you�ve lost a child, I�m sorry. Respond with thoughts of your own to [email protected] |