Today's topic: What Not to Say
This is a difficult and delicate topic. But it's very important, so I will address it. I didn't take any photos: I'm too lazy to handwrite these quotes and photograph them, so I'm saving a tree and skipping that step.
Grieving parents, unfortunately, hear a lot of platitudes. I recognize that the vast majority of people want to help but just don't know what to say. So, I'm not going to call out the random guy at the retail store who STILL didn't acknowledge Weston after I told him I have one living child in response to his question of how many children I have.
Unfortunately, a lot of these comments not only do not help, but they are actually hurtful. What's done is done, but learning what not to say could be helpful for a future encounter with a bereaved parent.
I was pretty snarky and sarcastic when posting these platitudes on the event's Facebook page earlier today. But I am feeling less angry at this moment (progress!), so I'll be more gentle. So, here are the things not to say, in no particular order:
God has a plan.
~I am a Christian, but this comment is NOT helpful. Not getting the job you want because something better is coming might be God's plan. My child's death was not God's plan. There is nothing better than my son waiting around the bend.
Your faith will get you through this. You will have a stronger relationship with God.
~ Having a stronger relationship with God is not worth losing my son. My faith is sorely shaken. I think it will recover, but if it doesn't, that's another failure in my life. I don't need to be reminded of that. And if these words are spoken by someone who has not lost a child, I'm sorry, but you have no idea what you're talking about.
You will feel better in [x days/weeks/months].
~First, after spending the weekend with hundreds of parents of dead children, it seems that bereaved parents generally don't feel better for AT LEAST a year, more often two years. Second, well, how do you know when I'll feel better? I have no idea myself.
Do you think [activity I did while pregnant] caused this?
~My placenta was bad. My body failed Weston, and that is ultimately why he died. It has taken everything in me to not be eaten alive by guilt over this fact. Asking the above question just adds to the guilt I am trying to banish from my thoughts. Another tidbit I learned this weekend is that guilt is very destructive and can hinder and complicate the grieving process. It's best not to go down that road.
It's a good thing he died so young, before anyone could get too attached.
~This was not said to me directly. I'm glad, because I might not have been able to restrain myself from punching him in the face. But in the interest of being helpful, think about it this way: if that statement were actually true, there would be a whole lot of smug firstborns walking around, quite secure in the knowledge that their parents love them best.
He is in a better place.
~Children belong with their mothers, and mothers belong with their children. That is all.
Just think about happy things.
~Hmmm...Where do I begin? Puppies and unicorns will not make this situation better.
But the worst is the silence and the deliberate decisions not to attend Weston's memorial service. Such a blatant lack of acknowledgment of Weston Max Yoder and our enormous loss is BY FAR the most hurtful.
Looking at some Facebook posts, I realize how fortunate I am, relatively speaking. My list of what not to say is pretty short.
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