Support

http://butterflymommies.blogspot.com/

I am linking up with the beautiful Butterfly Mommy women for a McLinky.  Here's the question that they are asking:


What forms of support helped you the most during your time of loss and even now? How would you recommend other people support grieving mothers? (As we know, many times people who love us often don't know what to say or how to act.)

I thought about how to answer this for a while and then realized that the best way for people to support a grieving mother is for them to understand what it's like.  Last year, the first post that I ever wrote was my "Drowning" post.  Those words just poured out from my soul in an attempt to explain what it feels like when your child dies.  So, I am re-posting it.  I hope that my experience and my words will give others insight so that no Mommy has to grieve alone.

Drowning

This past year+ has been the worst experience that anyone could ever imagine. No one wants to walk through the nightmare of losing a child. Nothing else seems comparable. Losing Nate was horrific. But on top of losing our son, we also lost almost all of our friends and family. Almost everyone that we knew walked away from us during the first year and we felt all alone and like no one cared.

We've heard over and over and over again how people didn't know what to do so they didn't do anything. I don't want anyone else to have to go through this.





When someone experiences a tragedy, they need support-- A lot of support.



Though it's impossible to truly understand...I want people to have some concept of what losing a child is like. So, I've often explained it to others in the following ways:



It's like losing a leg. It's painful. It hurts. You are now an amputee. You used to have 2 legs like everyone else, but now you are different. You are never completely whole again. It takes a long time to get up and learn to walk. It's really, really hard work. Sometimes you fall down. Sometimes you can run. You learn to live without it but it never grows back. Your life moves forward but part of you is always missing.



Or...it's like playing in a football game. You're on the field battling. It's an endless battle. You're exhausted and out of fuel. Sometimes you have a good run and go forward a few yards. Sometimes you get sacked and you're flat on your back. There are many people in the stands cheering you on. They want you to succeed. They really do. But they're sitting comfortably in their seats, eating their hot dogs and drinking their sodas. You need people to help you strategize. You need people to bring you water. You need people to carry you to the 1st down marker. A few help coach you. But most people stay in their seats while you're fighting for your life on the field. You feel all alone.



But...I think that the best way to describe it is like you're drowning.

• If you saw someone drowning, would you jump in and help them?
  
• Would you risk being cold and uncomfortable?
  
• Would you risk getting pulled under water to save someone else?Most people would probably say of course they would jump in and rescue someone if they were drowning. We like to believe that we would be that type of person. But in reality, are we?
  
  _____________________________________________________________
  
  When Nate died it felt like someone dropped us off in the ocean 1000 miles from shore and said "swim back". In addition, we were attached to a flimsy raft where our other 4 scared and confused kids were clinging on . It was a heavy load and we were the weakest we had ever been. We never prepared for a swim like that and in fact just finished a marathon of 25 days fighting for Nate's life right before we were dropped off. We began a seemingly impossible journey exhausted.
  
  
  When we were initially dropped into the ocean, many people surrounded us with their boats. They decorated the water around us, helped us pay for our journey there and sent many notes of sympathy. It felt so good to be loved. We really appreciated that support. But after the first week or so, most of the boats sailed away into the sunset. We buried our son and then we found ourselves in the middle of the ocean all alone.
  
  We struggled to keep our heads above water. Some days we were stronger than others but most days we were drowning. We worked to make sure that our kids were safe. We worked to direct their raft where it needed to go. We tried to keep their heads above water. Many times it caused ours to go under.
  
  We could see the boats go by that were filled with people that we knew. They were enjoying the sun and rejoicing with their friends and families. It was hard for us to see what our lives used to be like. How we used to have fun with friends. How we used to laugh and rejoice in our many blessings. We couldn't relate to that anymore. We were so far removed from that joy and happiness, it was hard to be around it. We couldn't ever imagine being happy or joyful again.
  
  
  We also saw many party boats cruising by filled with family members. We had asked for previously planned events to be postponed given that our family was grieving -- but they weren't. As the party boats sailed by, we saw them laughing and smiling and having a wonderful time. We never saw them look our way to see if our heads were above water -- often times they weren't. Maybe that's why they didn't see us. We didn't understand how they could plan celebrations while we were 1000 miles from land and struggling to survive. We wondered if they missed our presence or if they would even notice if we just let go and sank into the abyss. We were so tired and drained. I couldn't imagine living like this forever. We were so far away from shore that we couldn't even see it. I was tempted to just let go.
  
  Many boats would drop us some food. We needed food and were too far from shore to get it ourselves so that was really, really helpful. We were so incredibly thankful for that. But we had to tread water while we were eating. Because we were so exhausted, it was hard to catch our breath. From above the water we appeared somewhat normal. But under the water our bodies were constantly flailing about -- working hard to keep from sinking. We were running on empty.
  
  
  
  Sometimes, a boat would stop by and let us climb on board to rest for a while. Occasionally, a boat would give us some direction on where we needed to go or how we could tread water more effectively. But most of the time, they would just speed on by. The wake the boats made would cause us to ingest water and sometimes start to sink. We would have to fight even harder to stay afloat.
  
  A couple of our favorite boats invited us onto their houseboats. That was huge. We needed to regain some strength before we continued our swim. We needed to feel supported. It was a relief to be carried for a while.
  
  To our surprise, a few boats going by that were filled with people we barely knew or complete strangers would jump in and tread water with us from time to time. We couldn't believe that people who didn't even know us would be willing to be wet and uncomfortable. It was nice to have the company and helped get us through many long and exhausting days.
  
  
  But most of the time... we were alone. We sent out many "maydays" and flares to tell people that we were drowning and needed help. So many that we can't even count. It took a lot of energy to send those signals. So much energy that it would cause us to go under for a while. But we needed to risk it. We needed rescuing.
  
  Many boats would confirm our signal but would continue on with their voyage. Most would say that they would be there to help us but then, we never heard from them again. Some seemed to hear our call for help but didn't understand the message so they would just throw us a rubber ducky. It was a nice gesture but it wasn't helpful.
  
  Some of them replied with apologies for not being there and acknowledged their own failures. A few stopped by to tell us that we weren't doing "it" the "right way". We couldn't believe that people would criticize us when we were drowning but there were several that did. A couple family members replied with a personal attack. We were so vulnerable and weak. We just didn't have the strength to overcome the rejection.
  
  Others would say that they would be there at 2pm. We would think that all we had to do was make it until 2 and then we could rest for a while. We would countdown the minutes. But then 2 would come and go. 3 would come and go. And by the time they arrived at 4, we had ingested so much water, the rest wasn't beneficial.
  

There was almost always a reason why people weren't able to help us. Perhaps it's because they thought that we were strong and could swim alone. I don't know how anyone could be expected to swim 1000 miles alone. Perhaps some can but we couldn't. Or, maybe it's because they didn't want to get their comfortable, dry clothes wet. Wet clothes are uncomfortable and why be uncomfortable when you don't have to be.


In the last few months, we've gained strength from some wonderful people that have allowed us to rest on their boats, jumped in and swam with us and have continued to encourage us on. Surprisingly, almost all of those people were people that we barely knew or complete strangers a year ago. We never would have expected that they would have been the ones to rescue us. It's been hard on them. Because we didn't have a lot of support, we sadly wore some of them out. The ones that remain will always have a special place in our heart. We couldn't have continued swimming without their help. Honestly, I believe that we would still be drowning if they didn't jump in and help us.


At present, we are still swimming. We have developed a good stroke and are no longer treading water or going under. Most days the sky's are blue and the sun is shining. There are days when storms roll by and the sea's are very rough. Sometimes we are tussled around in the waves or swept off course by the current. Some days we are pushed under water by people or circumstances. It's still hard to get back to the surface when that happens.

We can see the shore now. It's under the blue sky. We're headed towards it. It will take us thousands of strokes to get there. We have a few lighthouses directing us and a few tugboats pulling us along. It's such a huge relief to finally know where we need to go and to have people that are helping us swim. We are lucky. We still have quite a journey ahead of us but we have the peace of knowing where we're going. When we arrive, we will be tired but stronger. We will never be the same.

When someone is hurting

RUN TO THEM not from them!