When you talk to me about the death of my son …
Please don’t ask me if I am over it yet. It is one of the things that I’ll never get over.
Please don’t tell me he is in a better place, because he isn’t. He is not with me.
Please don’t tell me that at least he is not suffering. I haven’t come to terms with why he had to suffer at all.
Please don’t tell me that you know how I feel … unless you have lost a child.
Please don’t ask me whether I feel better. Bereavement is not a condition that clears up. A bit less shocked, maybe, but not better.
Please refrain from telling me that I should be thankful that I had him for almost 34 years. What year would you choose for your child to die?
Please don’t ever tell me again that God does not give us more than we can bear. Each parent reacts in a different way, outwardly, that is.
Please; simply tell me that you are sorry. Please tell me that you remember my son, if you do. Please let me talk about my child. Please mention his name. David is such a lovely name. Please, just let me cry because that is what I need to do quite often. It is even worse to ignore the subject, year after year. Some friends call me either before the date, or on the day we buried David, and those calls mean a great deal to me.
There is no right or wrong way to handle a parent in this position, but a bear hug is always welcome.