Peace for piper
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How to not get punched in the...

2/6/2017

3 Comments

 
Throat. That's how I fill in the blank but two of my sassier girlfriends have used other more imaginative parts of the anatomy to complete the mad lib. I've struggled to write this post. Mostly because I've read a lot of articles titled "What not to say to a grieving someone" and can check off nine out of ten. Also, I try to stay away from telling people what to do because I almost never know what to do. And lastly, if you are reading this you may have said one or more of those things to someone. Gulp, even us. Again here comes a choice. I choose to believe people are good, kind-hearted and well intended. Anything and everything said to us after our baby died was meant to comfort. I wanted to share some things I found helpful and a little hurtful.

​Two weeks after Pipes died, our friend Jen, asked me if anything made me feel better. It caused me to dig deep, waay deep. I have never felt like her death was my fault. Yes, there is guilt and sadness but I worked very hard to provide a safe, happy house for Piper. In the coming weeks I held fast to that thought. It's terrible but not my fault.

​If it wasn't my fault whose was it? A difficult thing for me was when people named our creator. "It was God's will". So I don't know a lot of things and in this case the answer to that. When I get to heaven I'll try to remind myself to ask him but I'll probably be having a dance party with Piper so I may forget.

​The dreaded "at least". Any comment that begins with an "at least" is especially hard for me. 'At least she didn't suffer' or 'at least she didn't have brain damage' makes me feel a little woozy and at times violent. 'At least's' are like playing with fire. It leads me on a slippery slope of playing out sad scenarios. I cannot change the ending so why indulge.

​But for me the hardest is when I've been met with silence. Like time just skipped a beat. Like I had been smuggling a watermelon rather than carrying our girl. I am guilty of the silence. A friend of my husband lost a child later in pregnancy, and I saw this woman frequently after their loss and you guessed it---I said nothing. I told myself it was because it would be too painful for her but in reality it was too uncomfortable for me. It's a messy, tragic thing to loss a child at any stage in life. To lose anyone ever but even more so not to acknowledge their life.

I am thankful for the brave people who navigated some painful encounters. Including those who might have suggested it was the all mighty's will. Because in my book for what it's worth: something was better than nothing. It mattered and we noticed.

​Rest easy Piper Kai.
3 Comments
Jayme
2/10/2017 08:58:13 pm

Thank you for your heartfelt words and honest writing. You are brave to put your most personal thoughts and feelings out there for all to read. All your sweet Piper ever knew was love. That will be one heck of a dance party when you meet again. Praying for you, Piper, and the rest of your family as you continue to heal.

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Torie Brooks
5/16/2017 05:23:00 pm

I relate to this so much.
My Aaron lived and fought for 28 days in the NICU and people would comment "At least you had 28 days." I want more. I want more than 28 days. I want to have years with him. But that is just me being a selfish mama.
And the God's will comment. I believe that death is never God's will. That is why he sent his Son to die on the cross for us. So we can have LIFE forever. Death was never part of the plan. Jesus wept at the grave of Lazarus. Death breaks His heart.
All this to say, I hear you. I see you. I feel your pain with you. And thank you for reminding me to believe in the goodness of people and their comments.
-Torie

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Natalie
5/22/2017 09:09:45 am

Torie,
The "at leasts" tend to hurt the most and I hate that you know what that pain is like. People get awkward with the topic of death. It's sloppy, painful and I think people want to fill that silence so badly they sometimes say dumb things. I hold your sweet baby, Aaron, in my heart. Right along with my daughter. Take care, strong Momma.
-Nat

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