How Did She Die?

This is often the first question people ask after I tell them that we have a daughter who passed away. 

This is such a normal question. It's a natural question to ask. As living people, we are so curious about the one thing that none of us know anything about: death. As mothers we want to know how another child died so that some part of us can prepare and protect our own child from it (even though it's impossible). Our lives revolve around telling each other "what happened" So this question is so understandable and so natural but for my husband and I, it is so painful.

For us, "How did she die" translates to "Will you please relive and tell me about the most horrible thing you have ever, or ever will experience?" And after a year I finally have the courage to say "No" I'm not going to allow other people to make me do that.

For our story in particular, we were blessed to have 16 months with a healthy, happy child. She was our sunshine and the light of our lives. I have 16 months of stories about her that I am more than willing to tell anyone who will listen. She had an amazing life for someone so young.

And then came that one absolutely terrible day. A day full of memories that will wake me up in the middle of the night and fuel my anxieties for the rest of my life. But in the end, it was just one day.

Since then, I have learned some very hard fought lessons. I have found the strength to piece together my shattered heart and life. I have received untold amounts of strength and support from angels both living and not. I have gained compassion for anyone who is facing hardship in their lives. I have come to terms with my place on this earth and my Heavenly Father's plan for his children. And I would love to share all of this with others.

So I choose to focus on my daughter's life and the broken yet strong life I am living without her, not that one day.

So next time you hear that someone has lost a child, instead of asking, "how did she/he die?" you can ask "What was he/she like?" "Will you tell me about her/him?" "What is your favorite memory?" Flip your thinking and decide that you want to know about the child's life, not about their death. Isn't that a much more positive way to live?

I would like to say again that this is a very understandable question to ask. You may even be asking to connect and empathize with the parent. I try to believe this of everyone who has asked me. But, especially if you don't know the person very well, they don't know that. If you have asked it in the past, just be more aware in the future. There are many different parents with many different experiences and there are many different relationships between people that may make it an appropriate question to ask. For example, I am more comfortable when another loss parent asks me, because we immediately share an unspoken connection and I know that they will understand in a way others won't. There are other parents who face stillbirth and birth defects who tragically only have their child with them for a short time. They are sometimes more comfortable talking about their child's death because their child's life and death are so heartbreakingly intertwined. 

I fully support parents who choose to take circumstances of their child's death and raise awareness for illness, to raise money for cures, inspire changes in product manufacture, and try and make the world a safer place. To that end, they have chosen to share details of the most terrible day of their lives and I am so proud of them. That takes bravery and strength that I deeply admire. But it was their choice to share. 

So personally, if I am going to share my deepest pain with someone I would want it to be after some time, after we have come to know each other, and I am comfortable being vulnerable with them. After they have respected my boundaries and shown that they can be trusted with my emotions. I will tell them about that terrible day, and hopefully they will feel with me because they care about me and they know and care for Eden and can truly feel her loss. 

For parents who have lost a child, whose chest tightens when they are asked about their children. When that question does come and you suddenly feel like your brain is under water and you can't remember how to talk. I give you permission to say "no! I don't feel comfortable talking about it" I give you permission to let go of what they will think of you if you don't tell them. If they think ill of you, that is their own nasty problem.

Maybe some day I will have to courage to share about that day on this blog. But not today. Today I have the equal courage to say "No"