The timing for this post might seem strange. I actually wrote the majority of it over a year ago, but it felt unfinished and - to be truthful - I felt uneasy about it. I worried that it would be ill-received, come across embittered, or out-right offend those who may have stepped directly in the faux-pas I'm about to divulge.
But then about a month ago, the speaker in my MOPS group spoke on "Preparing for Hurt." She did a remarkable job of laying out practical ways to help and to avoid hurting others during times of great need. I've written before that there is no manual for this. The bereaved is just as new to the hurt and loss as her friends are at comforting her, so it's a legitimately tricky situation. Still, I felt a tangible sense of gratitude during this presentation because we agreed. On everything. Turns out I wasn't embittered, I was actually holding back from sharing with the world some truly helpful advice.
Then I had a chance to share our story with a sweet woman who encouraged me not to hold back. Is it not part of God's purpose to reveal ways in which we can truly come along side one another? We are called to love one another and yet, in the times when we need the most grace, others are often ill-equipped to offer it. Not that they don't try. Most of us are just trying our best to provide a kind word. The fact is, however, that if we think we need to say something, it's almost certainly the wrong thing, or - more likely - the wrong timing.
This is going to look like a list of dos and don'ts because, if you're anything like me, practical, real suggestions are far more helpful than subtle hints. But the real lesson behind this post is something you might only be able to really learn from experience...it's that in order to be truly compassionate and able to meet someone in their grief or trouble, we must be willing to sit in it. To be uncomfortable. To feel the intensity of awkward, and remain silent, uncomfortable, present.
I left the remainder of the original post intact - covering both grief and pregnancy - I hope it provides some insight and encouragement to BE OK WITH DISCOMFORT...I think many of these specifics could be broadened to apply to living life with others in general. And yes, this post is all about the negatives. We experienced many positives as well, but that's not what this one's about.
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One of these days I'm going to write a book...in the mean time please allow me keep track of my thoughts and experiences regarding the unintentionally unpleasant things people say to the bereaved, the adoptive, and the pregnant. Most are serious, some are silly, none are particularly well-received.
What not to say to someone who has lost a child.
Since Annabelle came into our lives, we have experienced a wide variety of emotions and situations and have subsequently encountered an equally wide variety of responses/encouragements/questions. Let me preface this by saying I don't believe anyone has spoken with malice, nor do I really fault a single person for blabbering on when they simply don't know what to say...it's what we do. However, I do believe that if I can learn from my own experiences I can be far more empathetic in the future, so why not learn from my experiences too?
-I know exactly how you feel.
Nope. The researched fact is that you don't. No two people grieve in the same ways - not even two going through the exact same situation. Our personalities, past experiences, faiths, and a multitude of other factors all influence the way in which we process grief and loss. This statement is terminal to a conversation. I assume that what you desire when you say this is "let's relate more on this because I have also lost." However, what you're actually saying is "I've been there. I've done that. Enough said."
A far more empathetic response is to express similarity rather than sameness. "I've also felt angry;" "I found it really helpful to..."
A word of caution: if you've not actually walked through a very similar situation, it's best not to attempt empathy. Care does not have to begin with comparison to be effective.
- She's in a better place.
I'm not really sure how to even begin on this one. I believe with all my being that my beautiful daughter is in Glory with God the Father. I believe that she is whole and healed and standing in the presence of her savior. I still don't feel there is any better place for her than in my arms. This is never a good thing to say.
- At least she...
I don't even have to finish this statement to explain that there is no consolation to the death of a child. Attempting to add a silver lining will only darken the cloud.
...didn't live that long? She was a member of our family, not a nameless infant that didn't leave an impact on those around her.
...didn't suffer? The reality is we really don't know. I hate to think of the times when I heard that "different" cry and I tell myself I did my very best and I beg for forgiveness if I caused her any pain.
If the bereaved parent wants to make an "at least she" statement, usually an expression of the bizarre relief (a source of intermittent guilt for many) felt after the death of a child, it is their prerogative to go there. Just don't do it for them.
- Was she full term? Because my sister's friend had a miscarriage and...
There are a million things wrong with this, but let me make it simple: your story does not ease my pain. I have been comforted by women who have lost - through our stories we can aid each other in the process of grieving and healing. But first you must consider why you are telling your story and whether it's even your story to tell.
If it's not your story, stop there. Talk it out with a friend later so you can get it off your chest if you need to. Better yet, call that friend to whom the story really belongs and let them know you thought of them and you don't even have to say why. Pray for them in that moment as you relive the experiencing of hearing bad news. But never claim a story that isn't your own.
If it is your story, consider first why you are going to tell it. Are you shifting the conversation to yourself? There are many situations when telling your story can be an amazingly healing experience to yourself and those who are listening. There are also times when you just need to talk. Often, it is better to listen and offer the simple statement "I have experienced loss too and I am so sorry." This leaves the door open for far deeper connection.
- You're going to make me cry.
Um, sorry? I thought when you asked, you actually wanted to know.
- She's an angel now.
Nope. Not an angel. Totally different thing. (Please note, some bereaved moms disagree with me on this one...but it's a big one to me. Safer to not make the comparison until you've heard it from the parent because it's simply not accurate.)
- God only gives us what we can handle.
Wrong again. Perhaps you're thinking of 1 Corinthians 10:13, when Paul says “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it." First of all, God steps in to provide the necessary escape, not our own power. More importantly, Paul is not referring to suffering. In fact, even Jesus cried out in His suffering, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Matthew 26:38). And I am certainly no stronger than Christ. God meets us in our needs - every time. But He never promised to keep us from more than we can endure alone.
- A note about Bible verses in general. Unless you feel a strong urging from the Spirit, remain silent. Most of the "typical" grief verses will come across contrite, even belittling. Doesn't mean they won't be well-received at some point down the line, but be cautious. It may seem like the right thing to say, but first consider if you just need to say something to give yourself a breath under the weight of crushing sadness, or if you are really being called to share.
- One more: I can't believe I have to say this...but never. NEVER. Compare the death of a pet to the death of a human being. Never.
Keep in mind that telling someone about a tragedy is an exhausting experience. In addition to sharing your own pain, you also bear the burden of comforting for those you are telling. As a listener, you can do so much to ease this burden, but you have to be willing to feel sad, to squelch your desire to fill silences, and even to cry along too.
When in doubt, say "I don't know what to say." Chances are, they don't expect you to know what to say.
What not to say to the adoptive parent
Let me start by saying that adoption is an entirely new realm for me. I know practically nothing about what it means to be an adoptive parent, yet I've already managed to encounter thoughtless remarks regarding our decision to proceed with adoption. I'm sure I will learn much more as we go.
- Why don't you just have more of your own children?
I'm not going to address the question that you meant to ask before I clarify that my adopted children will be my own. I might also add that you need say no more to imply your opinion that adoption is somehow inferior to giving birth to genetic children.
I assume you actually want to know the details about our situation that lead us to this adoptive journey, but it may not be appropriate to ask. Not all, but many adoptive families have gone through a remarkably difficult journey before a child enters their family and it would be very wise to tread lightly and let them lead the conversation.
I love sharing our story, but I would be far more open to something like "tell me what lead you to this decision."
- Will it be white?
I have to laugh. I really do. Because I would want to know too! Curiosity isn't a bad thing - well, not always - it just needs to be framed and phrased properly...
If you really think it's appropriate to ask (ie this is a close friend or someone open and willing to share), try "are you considering trans-racial adoption?" This might be better received as long as you are actually curious about the adoption process and not just eager to express your opinions.
When in doubt, start with "would it be appropriate for me to ask..." or "I'm really curious, would you share..." Some are open, some are not. I would love to share my story with you, but others aren't interested...that applies to so many situations, doesn't it? So let's just leave it there!
What not to say to a pregnant woman
I'm really not the kind of person that cares much what a stranger says. I know he/she is just trying their lamest best to say something at all (why do we do this???). However, I truly believe it is a public service to let people know that pregnant women are indeed more than just pregnant. And, as much as they may love that little squirmy inside their bellies, they might not love being pregnant. So when you remind them how enormous they are, they might not take the way you intended it (how did you intend it?).
Being at the end of my 3rd pregnancy, I've heard a lot of them, but I find that at least monthly I hear a new, outrageously impertinent comment. If you ignore the advice, at least pray you encounter your next pregnant lady on a day when she is a) happily eating an ice cream and therefore doesn't care, b) experiencing the full magnitude of pregnancy brain and therefore won't understand your comment until you have walked away, or c) so laden with swollen ankles and other children that she cannot run after you.
- What happened to you?
Well, thanks for your sincere concern, random guy. You see, there is this garden...
- Have you heard...(insert scary story about what can go wrong)
Well, if I hadn't, thanks for adding one more thing to my endless list of fears.
- You are about to pop!
Shall I explain the anatomy of birth first or the realities of gestational duration because SIX MONTHS FROM NOW I'm going to go through a lot more than popping.
- You're still here.
Indeed I am. Thanks for the warm reception and reminder that my children like to bake long past the mystical thing called a "due date."
- Are you sure there's only 1 in there?
I would prefer that you simply declare the enormity of my abdomen or even criticize my apparent excess in weight gain than contend with the momentary panic attack of the possibility that 2 screaming balls of fire might have to emerge from...I will pause on this side of the line and remind you about pregnancy brain. It's a real thing.
- Wow, you're swollen.
Wow, you have no filter. (PS I really don't mind this type of comment because it's an honest reaction. I don't know if all my pregnant sisters share this feeling though.)
- Are you going to have more?
Can I have this one first?
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So, if I've come across embittered or offended you, well too bad. This one ain't about you. It's about learning to respond to life. Because life isn't always neat or orderly or comfortable. I've been guilty many times of saying the wrong things (I'm a blurter, anyone with me?). But each time, I hope to learn and maybe I can share some of that hard-earned insight with the world.
