One Thing You Should Never Say to a Grieving Parent. Ever.
Two friends and I were talking recently and one of them said something that left me speechless. At least momentarily.
I and one of these friends have lost children. The other friend is in a difficult place with some of her adult children and they are not speaking. Out of nowhere this friend announced that what she was going through — not speaking to her children — was much worse than what we had gone through. She called her situation, “Hell on Earth”.
Wow! Really? How nice of you to say that out loud to two women who have truly gone through Hell on Earth and in some ways, still do. Let me give you a little insight into what Hell on Earth looks like from my front row seat.
My Hell on Earth was watching my son die from an incurable terminal illness inch by inch for almost a year. It also included many hospital stays, procedures, treatments, therapy, sleep deprivation for months for us both and so many things that were so awful to go through I can’t begin to even put them into words.
I tried everything to keep my son alive. But he died. When he died, I wanted to also and a new Hell began. And honestly, this new Hell was worse than the first. Because after everything I’d tried, I still didn’t have my son. Though I knew he was in Heaven, he wasn’t with me. And that, perhaps, has been the hardest part of my Hell on Earth, not having any chance of seeing, touching or being with my son until I join him in Heaven. For however long that is.
This new Hell included anger, guilt, blaming myself, depression, and lots of other emotions that imprisoned me. I had no key to unlock that door except my faith in God. I even got mad at Him.
It took time — months — years — to give myself enough grace, to let myself off the hook. Because this was my son. My responsibility. My person to protect from all the bad things. And I hadn’t.
The key that opened the gates to my Hell was that I finally realized I truly could not have kept him from all the bad things. No parent can. No parent. I had not failed. I had fought. Harder than I ever had in my life. Ever.
My son knew that from the beginning. He knew it. The look of love in his eyes told me so. To him I was not a failure, I was his mommy, his protector, his hero. He died knowing and believing that.
And so, I finally turned that same grace and love my son had given me back to my protector, my hero. To God. And I promised I would use my son’s life and death for the good of others and help them through their deepest, darkest Hells. And I have, with God’s grace and help I have.
This Hell on Earth comparison should also never be said to anyone grieving the loss of a significant loved one regardless of who that loved one is. It’s just doesn’t even begin to be a true comparison.
P.S. Unfortunately, I have also had the painful personal experience of being separated from very close loved ones here on Earth caused by family dysfunction and mental illness. That separation lasted 8 long years and while I held out hope for the chance of reconciliation, I grieved those relationships and put them in God’s hands. In my opinion, saying the loss of relationship to a living person is worse than losing a loved one to death serves only one person, the one saying it.
Jackie Deems copyright 2021
