In my last post I discussed how during a storm–both physical and emotional–it is easy to see people’s “true colors”. I would like to expand a little on that thought. You would think that the hardest part about grief is losing that person. Losing my baby has been so, so painful. I can’t even put it fully into the proper words. Not knowing how he would look all grown up, or not knowing his favorite color or his favorite food. These are all thoughts that haunt me. Thankfully, I have found (at least I’ve tried to find) the rhythm between grieving the idea of my baby boy and believing the Truth that I will see him again in heaven.

But another complicated and sad part of grief is the people around you. I am what you would call an “extrovert”, which means “I like people” (at least that’s what I think it means). When I was told my baby died, my first reaction was to reach out to others. I called my mom, texted my coworker friends (who are like my sisters), texted my family, and let as many people as I could know what happened. While I did need prayers and love, it was the people themselves I needed most.

I know this is not how most others are wired. But in my grief journey, the most comfort (other than, and even along with, God and His Son Jesus) has come from connecting with other people. Not in a “I don’t know what you are going through, I feel pity for you” kind of way, but in a “I am grieving with you, this sucks and it hurts me as well, but I am here with you and for you” kind of way. I received messages and texts from people whom I haven’t spoken to in years, letting me know they were sorry for our loss, and they were praying for us. It wasn’t an attention thing, it was more about learning that Jon and I were not alone.

However, there were some comments I didn’t like, or expect. For instance, “You will have another baby and be a mom.” My internal response was always, “I’m already the mom of a dead child who is never going to be here, but thanks.” But I never held unhelpful comments against the people who made them. People were doing their best to be there for us, and I appreciated that from the bottom of my broken heart.

The absolute best moments of sharing Noah’s story were when people would tell me “I am enjoying my kids so much more.” Or, “Your story impacted me in a way that I can live my life a little happier”. It might sound cruel, or weird, but knowing that my son’s death impacted their lives in a positive way meant the world to me. It gave purpose to the pain…

Don’t Hide Love Inside

What I didn’t know was how some of the closest people to us were going to hurt us in the deepest ways. I realized how grief reveals our truest selves. For me, it revealed how selfish, controlling, and unloving I was. I had to face my demons because I had no other choice. I can honestly say that through the death of my son I have worked through issues that were controlling my life even before I became pregnant. This has been the case for so many of our family members and friends.

Now, for some people–who we welcomed into the deepest part of our joy when we found out we were pregnant, and pain, on our darkest days–Noah’s death revealed their own demons, and they couldn’t handle it. So they disappeared. Others tried to help us in their own way, but ended up hurting us even more. I won’t go into details, but some of the deepest pain during our grief came from the unmet expectations we had about our relationship with these people.

If you have had a loss in your life, you know what I am talking about. In the journey, the kindness of strangers could brighten your day, and the indifference or selfishness of a friend can break your heart even more.

Just Pass It On

One morning, shortly after some of those “heartbreaks”, Jon and I were making breakfast and he started humming a song and asked me to look it up. The song is called Rainy Day People, by Gordon Lightfoot. It’s a song from an artist that Jon’s mom introduced to him when he was younger. We played it while eating breakfast and it was just perfect…

Rainy day lovers don’t lie when they tell you
They’ve been down there too
Rainy day people don’t mind if you’re cryin’ a tear or two…

Rainy day lovers don’t hide love inside, they just pass it on.

Thank you, to all of our rainy day people, all dozens of you. Even though I’ve always enjoyed connecting with people, I was truly not a rainy day person until Noah died. So if you are reading this and you are convicted about not having been a rainy day person, for whatever reason, I encourage you to step up and stop hiding love inside. You don’t have to go through the same situation as your crying, grieving neighbor. Just let your own pain, the inevitable pain that comes from living in this broken world, transform you in a way that you can be comforted and comfort others. Just pass it on.