Grief

The babies they cannot hold

Last year after the Floodgate Foundation had its first Board of Directors meeting I wrote about what a humbling experience it was to have been asked to participate in such an important, life-changing organization. I told you that I sat at our meeting table with the overwhelming sense of “now how exactly did *I* get here?” The organization is not only life-changing for the individuals it’s impacting, it has been life-changing for me.

I recently found myself in another HDIGH? moment (That’s “How Did I Get Here?” for short, wink-wink).

A good friend of mine, a mentor mom and social worker, recently asked me to begin co-facilitating a grief support group with her. She’s a licensed clinical social worker and has worked in the field of grief for about a decade. She’s an expert really. So when an expert asks you to help her you don’t say “no”. Especially when you haven’t worked in the social work field for 8-1/2 years because you’ve been busying yourself as a SAHM. Just the “ask” part is an honor. She raised the question: “Do you want to pray about it?” Nope, not necessary. I’m good. Let’s do this.

The grief support group is specifically for parents whom have lost a child.

A-hem: HDIGH?

This particular group of parents have lost a child who is under a year old, possibly even before their pregnancy was full term. Years ago my mentor talked with me about the possibility of co-facilitating but was concerned that I was too near child-bearing age (my baby Grant is 4 now) and I would likely over-identify with the parents, which may not make me the best group leader. We waited several years and now it appears it is time.

But I decided within ten minutes of the group starting last week that it may not have mattered how old my kids are: Losing a child is losing a child. If you have one, you can imagine the horror no matter what their age. You put the baby down for a nap, he doesn’t wake up. SIDS. Even when my “baby” is thirteen, I’ll probably over-identify. And I’m OK with that.

I can’t talk about the specifics of the group, but I can tell you that I didn’t make it through the first meeting without tears visibly rolling down my cheeks. I was embarrassed, but what could I do? Their pain touched me, and I couldn’t help but let it show.

I’ll admit I don’t know what I’m doing (I have a bachelor’s degree in social work), I’ve never led a grief support group before. But I’m totally up for the challenge and I’m so incredibly honored to be invited by my friend to journey with these parents who have suffered greatly. Typing the words “suffered greatly” doesn’t even begin to describe a sliver in the holes of their hearts. The babies they cannot hold.

What I do know is that I am being changed. I wrote in my journal in Starbucks the night after our first group: “Today. The day my life changes forever. Because truly everyday you’re life can change. If you let it.”

Sitting amongst grief-stricken parents is a privilege. A privilege I have not earned, nor do I deserve. I am not a part of their “club”. A club they adamantly declare they never wanted to be a part of. And yet I’m there. I’m going to broaden myself, learn new ways of empathizing, learn a new depth of compassion. I may not know exactly how I got to where I am but I sure as hell know I don’t want to leave. And as I thank God for his providence in my life, I pray for the parents I’ve met, who wake up today with an ache that will probably never be soothed.

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