One of the members of a bereaved parent Facebook page recently posted this passage.
We Weren’t Prepared
From Leave Her Wild by Sharyn Marsh
One minute you were here, the next, you were gone. There was no opportunity to say goodbye, to tell you we love you, one more time. We could not hug you, breathe you in or kiss your cheek. How does anyone cope with that? We were all going about our lives and suddenly you were not in our lives anymore. If that isn’t the most excruciating pain on earth, then I don’t know what is.
We weren’t prepared.
Ms. Marsh is a widow, and she writes about her grief and her faith on several social media platforms. This book excerpt wasn’t in reference to child loss, but it hits home for parents and anyone who has lost a loved one suddenly and unexpectedly.
We know we are finite humans. We know our earthly life will end. And, yet we are never really prepared for the death of a loved one. Even if they have a life-shortening disability or an incurable disease. We may understand intellectually that death is inevitable, but we will still be caught off guard by that last breath.
And, when someone we cherish, especially our child, dies unexpectedly, we are shocked to the core. We are gut punched. Not just because that someone is suddenly not in our lives anymore. But because we NEVER expected our child to not be in our life.
Parents do not outlive their children. Out-of-order death is not supposed to happen. Children carry on their parents’ memory and legacy. Right?
I know I am every parent’s worse nightmare. I am a living breathing example of the thing they are most afraid of. I’m uncomfortable to be around.
That’s one reason why bereaved parents flock together. Why they seek out other grieving mothers and fathers. They understand. They aren’t taken aback by the “am I normal” questions. They aren’t offended by the “I am angry at God” confessions. We can vent, and cry, and complain, and ask/give advice all within a safe space and then go out and face the world in a semi-normal fashion.
And it still doesn’t make us any more prepared than anyone else. For loss. For death. For goodbye.
What we can prepare for is hello.
Laura
A Light for My Path 
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