Let the Advice... Begin!

My normal introduction to a mom who has just joined the Worst Club in the World goes something like this: (I usually try to make it more tactful and caring, but my filter has broken today from the weight of the latest tragedy weighing on my heart and the recounting of the first day of Our Story.)

Welcome to the Worst Club in the World.

You are not alone.

We all hate the club, but we all are connected and fiercely love and protect one another.

Nothing you think is bad.  Nothing you think has not been thought before.  You may be disgusted or embarrassed or angry at yourself for some of the thoughts you have had since your child died, but I can assure you, they are normal.

You feel guilty.  I get it.  You probably shouldn't, but me telling you that is not going to change all the "what if..." guilts you play over and over in your mind.

You don't know what to do with yourself, and that is okay.  Whatever you do or say or think outside of committing a felony is wrong at this point.  You are grieving.  Nothing and everything are normal in grief.

You are probably going to think about suicide at some point in the near future if you haven't already.  That's normal.  You will get through it.  Don't be afraid to tell someone.  You may need to talk about it to get it out there and move on.

You may need to start taking medicine to help you sleep or get out of bed or put on pants or take care of yourself or others for whom you might be responsible.  That's okay.

People are going to say stupid things.  I think you are fully within your rights to face punch them (or throat punch if you want to watch the effect your punch has on their face), but I don't really advise that.  If you're like most of us, you will be dumbstruck by the stupidity and insensitivity of people and not know what to say.

It's your party.  You set the tone for this whole sha-bang.  Everyone should take their cues from you and your child's father.  You may choose to take the thoughts and feelings of others into account in planning a memorial or funeral, or making cremation or burial arrangements, or you can choose not to.

It's okay to take pictures.  You may never look at them again, but you may find that you wish you had, and you can't really go back and do it later.  If you take them and never want to look, that's okay, too.

If you live in the Midwest, you are probably going to be the recipient of lots of food and paper products because goodness knows no one wants to worry about running out of toilet paper or worry about what the million people who show up at your house are going to eat or drink and no one is going to want to do dishes.  (This may be the same other places; I don't know.  I have never lived anywhere else.)

It's okay to delegate.  If you don't care what the coffin looks like, let someone else choose.  If you don't want to think about what songs to sing or what verses to read or who talks, delegate that crap out to someone you trust who does.  Use your limited about of brain power to do the things that are important to you, be they taking care of other children (or delegating that), planning the whole service (or delegating that), or figuring out where great-aunt what's-her-name is going to stay (or delegate that).  This is the time that people are literally standing around wishing they had something to do.  Give them a job, or delegate someone to hand out the jobs for you.

My husband had guys from our church out digging trenches to lay water and power lines to our new garage.  Why?  I have no idea.  I guess because it was something that had been on his to do list and these guys had no way to show my man they cared other than to work with their hands.  So, they dug trenches.  They laid lines.  I think they may have even dug a new sewer line (that's brotherly love, that is, standing ankle deep in another man's sewer).

Okay.  I think that's all for tonight.  My brain is telling me I need sleep and that this whole thing may have just been one giant mistake, so I'm going to shut this down for now.  But if you are reading this and have lost a child, know that I am probably praying for you tonight.  And if I don't know you but I have heard of your loss, I am probably praying for you, too.