To my friend who lost a child,
I have never been where you have been. I have no idea what you are feeling, or how you are getting through each day.
I have cried tears for you, but they seem like tiny drops compared to the raging rapids you must be shedding.
I imagine you feel angry that it happened to you. I imagine you lie awake at night wondering if you did anything wrong, or could have done anything differently.
I imagine you forgetting yourself for a moment…watching your 3 year old dancing with a silly smile for the camera. You smile to yourself, and then remember your world ended a few days ago when your other daughter died, and there is no going back.
Do you wish time could go back a week, where she was safe and sound inside you, only to realise that it would be fruitless, that the very worse pain would still be ahead of you anyway? Do you and your husband know what to say to each other, how to comfort each other?
No. I cannot begin to imagine anything you are going through. I can’t begin to understand the grief, or the finality, or the sense of loss. When I was at my most vulnerable and exposed you were there for me. You sat with me, distracted me, talked about nothing.
Maybe you didn’t know what I was going through, but it seemed like you understood. It was what I needed. It helped get me through. I was staring into blackness, a never ending abyss of despair, and you were there.
And now I am impotent to do anything that might comfort you, because although I don’t know how you feel, as a mother I know instinctively there is no comfort when a child is lost.