Sending Dear Friends Strength

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

I’m at a loss for the right words. For any words. This morning I turned on my phone and read an incredibly sad email. It was a note from a friend’s sweet husband telling us all that their newborn son, their second darling baby, died last night. He was almost five days old.

My son is in the bed next to me snuggling up and drinking some warm milk. My husband is next to him, trying to grasp some last bits of sleep before we start our routines. I clutch my chest, to hold my heart still, I guess. Then my hand sails up over my mouth, stifling the wounded sound that is balling up in there ready to pour out.

Thoughts and words crash into each other. My head is crowded, clouded. My stomach feels sick and unsettled. I playback the last brief conversation I had with this wonderful mother—a missive, brief and somewhat blurry. She told me she had the baby. She told there were complications; he was in the NICU. She told me she’d talk more once they were all out of the hospital.

I told myself to push any worries aside. I told myself that all will be fine with this baby. I told myself that I will soon see them all, once they were out of the hospital.

And now, I’m at a loss. Tears are pooling as I type.

This isn’t fair.

This isn’t right.

This is cruel and horrible. It’s heartbreaking.

I want to scream and curse and kick at the air.

I’m trying to do something else, though. Something better and helpful to my broken friends.

The rain and darkness of the morning just cleared. It’s sunny and they sky is almost cloudless. Something about that—as poetic as it is—feels calming. I’m sending this energy to my friends and hope that they feel it, soon.

  • 1
    Micaela P. says:

    well, the next few days will be really horrible for them. If you’re close enough to be of practical help, babysitting their first child and helping to organize/deliver meals for the family would be appreciated. My BIL & SIL lost their baby to stillbirth recently and the process of getting everything done for the burial seemed like an added punishment for two people who had just suffered so much. Your friends will need to be able to talk to someone, and too many people don’t want to hear painful stories of loss. If you can listen, if you can hold them and hug them, look at pictures of their child (if they want to show them), and encourage them to mourn, eat, go on living, then do. That’s what you can do. Big hug.

    • 1.1
      Ms. Mary Mack says:

      This is helpful advice, Micaela. I’ve already offered to have their older child over for playdates. I want to give them a day or so and then pick up the phone and call. Planning to bake some goodness for them and drop it over.

      This does not compare, but I remember wanting to talk to others after my miscarriage, but no one (outside of my family) was around for that. It hurt.

      I’m feeling this for them. I can’t imagine the level of pain they must be feeling right now.

  • 2

    i’m so sorry to hear this, nicole. i’m sending warmth and love, for what it’s worth. (not much, i know.) micaela’s advice seems spot on. not sure what more i can add. it must be so painful. i cannot imagine. good friends (like you) and family who care and will be there is the best you can hope for in times like the ones your friend are going through. my heart goes out to you, your friends and their family.