I have a friend who recently told me that he doesn't think blogging is brave. I was told this after I asked if he read my blog. I don't blog because I think it is brave. Heck, I don't even think that I am brave. I blog because it is cheaper than therapy (I just paid that $22o bill for two sessions). I blog because I think that I have something to say, and even if I don't, I have a story to tell. I blog because in some tiny recess of my heart, I hope to help someone else with coping, or pain, or information. I blog to keep a record of where I have been, for when I broach the other side, I fear that I won't remember how painful/pleasant, sweet/sour, joyous/tearful the journey was, and I think that the learning is found in the remembering. Bravery has nothing to do with it. The closest I come to bravery these days is trying to keep it all together when the tears threaten to ski down my cheeks.
A friend texted me today to ask what she could do for a close friend that recently miscarried. I had a couple of hours to think on that. I take helping people so very seriously because I realize that one misstep can turn help into unmeant harm. My first thought was that everyone is so very different in how they deal with life occurrences, but there has to be something we all need or have in common. There are two huge things that I needed and were provided for me in my time of need: acknowledgement of loss and listening friends/loved ones. It doesn't matter what you lost, a baby, hope, dreams, plans, you lost something very real and there is going to be grief. You can say whatever you want, but I lost a baby and a dream. I cannot say at this point that the grieving process is over; it isn't. Which brings me to the listening. Everyone needs to be listened to, but this person in your life needs to know that she (he) can talk about her loss, or not talk about it. That you will listen to her today, tomorrow, and even in two years if she needs you to. There are other little things, but these two were the biggest to me. They may seem obvious, but both of them are so important. To this day I have very clear memories of who was there for me and who was not. That sounds vindictive and I don't mean it to sound that way. I cherish those that were strong enough to support me when I was so very weak.
I want to expound on what I remember because it makes me so very grateful to have the people in my life that I do:
C, my husband, held my hand until I went into surgery and I know now that he was just as scared as I was. He held me so tight and for so long that I could feel love, like heat, radiating off of him.
My parents and his parents would have driven through the night to be there for us, but we thought it best to go it alone, as a couple. The parents opened their arms and homes to us as quiet resting places during recovery. What they provided was a safe place.
S, the boy who broke my heart because I "never wanted to have children," stayed up into the wee hours of the morning with me, so that I wouldn't have to go to sleep and have nightmares. He took me out to lunch when I couldn't drive because of the painkillers (because of the pain). He just sat with me and listened.
K, a family friend and someone who has experienced at least one devastating miscarriage, brought me hugs, a card, and flowers, along with teary condolences.
S, my parents' neighbor and another person that has experienced a devastating miscarriage, told my mom to send me over and that I could just talk to her and hang out (I took her up on that). She told me her own story and just listened.
I called my best friends, EL and M, who both cried with me. They just listened and M prays.
J and L, both who live states away, strangely called that night just to catch up. I hadn't told either of them that I was pregnant, so they got the set of news together and both expressed their deepest condolences. They just listened.
I went to see A and her sweet, six-day-old baby boy. I held him and she just listened.
I had to call E with the bad news and the phone went silent. He listened and continues to listen.
N and A responded with disbelief and condolences. N has always been there for C.
As the news trickled around and I continued to deal with the pain and grief, other support came readily.
I found that while I was busy being a horrendous person, that AM and R found it in their hearts to grieve with me and pray for me. I heard from AM how sorry she was within minutes of our reconciliation.
I reached out a made friends with AD, who I always knew would be a good person to have on my side, and she listens, still.
AN and I came back into our friendship and have helped one another, I think. She also listens, which I am grateful for.
C and I picked up right where we had left it, that fun shiny friendship, but now it is deeper and better and she listens and is on the lookout for my feelings.
T and K have their prayers working for me, and as recent as Monday, K just listened, and quite honestly, T always has.
This list isn't exhaustive, it serves as an indicator, that what you do for someone who is hurting matters a lot. Now or later, here or there, in person or on the phone, a little or a lot, words or no words - it all matters. Thank you for your hearts and your support.
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