Ryan

I echo all of these tips. And being there for them for the long haul. My wife and I had only felt our ‘normal’ (pre-losing our daughter) selves a handful of times after 18 months. It’s been better in the six months since, but joy is still fleeting. It takes years.

I’m so sorry for your sister’s loss, your family’s loss, and your loss. We lost our daughter, Madelyn, on her due date, the day after Christmas two years ago. Several months later I had sent out a newsletter to my subscribers (I’m an author) explaining what had happened,in that post I also talked about what had helped us in the early days. I’m pasting that below in the hopes that it may help a little bit (nothing really helps much unfortunately). The other thing I would add to that is to understand that this kind of grief will be years in the healing. Two years on, we were able to have a second daughter, but beyond her, joy remains elusive. Here’s what I wrote two years ago:

I know this has been a dark letter to read through. For those of you who have experienced similar loss, I am so sorry you’ve had to endure this pain and I’m sorry if reading this brought those memories back to the fore. Before I wrap up, I don’t want to leave things where they stand now: I want to try to shine some light on this dark nightmarescape. I want to share what helped us in those early days and helps us today. What made things, if not better, at least slightly less worse. What gave us the infinitesimal respites to survive. It may help you or a friend or family member, but I hope it helps someone.
What helped in those first few days…

Knowing we weren’t alone. The hospital gave us 2 books that were lifelines. The first was specific to our situation, Surviving My First Year of Child Loss by Nathalie Himmelrich , with stories from many other parents who were in similar situations. The second is helpful for anyone experiencing the loss of a loved one, It’s OK that You’re Not OK by Megan Devine. Grief is such a taboo in our society that when the intensity of it hits us so closely that we’re run through from side to side, we aren’t prepared for it. We think we’re losing our minds, at least, I worried I was. This book helped me understand I wasn’t losing my mind and gave me real things I could do to alleviate suffering. Nothing alleviates pain and grief, but you can control when that turns into suffering, to a degree, and that’s where this book really shined.

Knowing we weren’t alone. There was nothing, and is nothing, that anyone can do to really “help”, but having people reach out online, via cards, texts, etc. really did make us feel better. The outpouring of support was surprising. Not that it happened, but the directions and forms it came in really knocked me back. We heard from people we didn’t know or had lost touch with while folks we thought we would hear from were strangely silent. We got more flowers and cards than we knew what to do with and while sometimes that was maddening or upsetting, overall it was a visual reminder that someone, somewhere was thinking about us. I can’t tell you how much that meant and I can’t tell you how grateful I am for those of you who kept reaching out every few weeks just to check in. Grief obscures and it was easy to forget that we weren’t alone after the initial wave of messages. The ones who reached out after the world had moved on? I think about them almost every day. Thank you.

A friend told me that when everything sucks and there is no way to help, send food, and they were right. The last thing we wanted in those early weeks was to interact with anyone and because we weren’t really eating (I lost 15 pounds in a little over two weeks, despite barely moving) we didn’t think we needed food. We were wrong. Friends who sent us frozen baked goods, frozen veg-forward soups and salads, a pizza on a weeknight, etc. were lifesavers. What we didn’t plan on, was that even when we began eating more regularly again, how often a night would come where we had zero energy to make anything. That still happens right now and we have a few of those meals in the freezer yet–thank you friends for making nourishing our bodies easier these past several months.

Acknowledging that our daughter passed. I hate awkward conversations–I’m an introvert at heart and would rather crawl over broken glass than initiate a potentially awkward moment. So I get it, I really do, that when you bump into someone or see them for the first time after something tragic has occurred you don’t know what to do. I’m here to tell you that acknowledging right away that you know, that you understand we’re in pain, and that you’re thinking of us is the best path forward. Something along the lines of, “Hey Ryan, I was so sorry to hear about Maddie’s passing. I cannot imagine what you’re going through. I know there’s likely not anything that I can do to help, but if there ever is please do ask. I want you to know I’m thinking of you and Rachel.” Then you can move on from there and follow the lead of the person you’re speaking with. When folks don’t say anything at all I’m left waiting with that ticking grief bomb, wondering when it’s going to go off, rather than engaging with the person. The only thing you can do that harms here is if you make the other person’s pain about yourself, tell them their loved one died for a reason, or push your afterlife beliefs on them. Don’t do those things, please! But letting someone know you understand they’re hurting really is the least awkward way to handle things.
Talking about Maddie. I think maybe especially in our situation, because we only had a short time with her, it has been both helpful and hard to talk about Madelyn. But it’s a good hard in many ways, because we love her so much and getting to share her life and memory with others helps anchor us to her. When people have asked about how we named her or what she was like (she had such a force of personality in the womb that we really did feel like we were learning who she was even before we got to meet in person) it’s been really nice to be able to share our memories.

Self care in the early days. I don’t want to linger on the first day, week, month for very long because it is one, torturously long nightmare of a day in my memory. Safe places to let our minds wander helped enormously. Great British Bake Off show, Rick Steves, PBS painting and woodworking shows, All Creatures Great & Small…any audio/visual format that had overtly kind, good hearted people filled the hours that otherwise would have been spent in silent mental dungeons. Watership Down, a perennial childhood favorite, helped me for much the same reason. Forcing ourselves to get out of bed, shower, and dress, even though we were then only going out to the couch, helped establish a routine. Eating was difficult, but forcing ourselves to have one meal a day and not worrying about the rest helped. Spending 5 minutes to write down the thoughts/feelings that were top of mind made them less sharp.

Self care in the weeks that followed. This was a very long, slow process, of beginning to take the dog for a walk, “exercising” (really going through motions) for 15-20 minutes in the morning, listening to guided meditation, etc. that helped to establish routines that we could then build upon as grief allowed really worked well in keeping us moving forward without feeling forced.

Grief counseling. This took way more time and energy on our part in the immediate aftermath of it all to find than it should have, but it really was worth it. Talking to a professional, experienced in what we were thinking/feeling helped a lot. It wasn’t a magic pill, alas. It didn’t make the pain less and in some ways it was frustrating to hear we were doing all the things we should be doing when we were still in so much agony. But it helped and gave us a cornerstone to lean upon.