My husband and I have recently hypothesised on the reasons why so many relationships and social networks seem to collapse after the death of a child. Certainly our own experiences currently tell us that people fall into four possible categories. When I say people, I am talking about those who at the time of the bereavement are in your circle. They might be family, close friends, people you supported, people you had some kind of ongoing thread with. I wouldn't for a second suggest that those who suffer a loss immediately draw up shitlists for everyone they've ever known. My cousins for instance are lovely people and we see each other every few years but at the time of losing Freddie I wouldn't have expected more than a card. We would all like to think we have a good idea of those who will pull through for us right? Well it might come as a surprise to learn that most people who I have spoken to since losing a child or family member suddenly, unexpectedly or just simply before their time are lonely. Their friends and family start disappearing, leaving a few stars behind.
The first category are those who do not leave your side - whilst perhaps not always physically there, they are present on the end of the phone, they text, they call, they don't worry about saying the right thing because they recognise there is no right thing. They just speak. They are part of your journey and because of this their company feels safe. In fact group one are so safe and easy you can pretty much expect that they instinctively understand. This means there is no pressure to fill the gaps in contact or in fact in conversation. It's basically cool. It seems highly likely that the majority of group one have experience of bereavement from someone younger than say a grandparent.
Group two are a little bit out of their depth and worry but they are still present. It doesn't come as naturally and they may not be as consistent but they are determined to be there and are regularly in contact. They ask questions, they want to learn and they always listen. They may get it wrong but they own it. They don't poke you all the time asking for updates on how you're coping - they just let you know that you're loved. In turn you probably tell them that's all you need.
Group three are the frustrating ones. They wait to take your lead but then miss (or ignore out of fear) the signs that you'd like contact. They apologise for being rubbish but yet do nothing. They promise to call and then they don't. They try and draw parallels with their own life events which bear no similarities. They speak to you but avoid talking about your child, they ask how you are in hushed tones or just don't ask at all. They say they are "giving you space " but lack the capacity to realise grief is already a wide open space. In fact last night we established that for some people, "space" was actually a convenient term for either discomfort/forgetfulness/disinterest (delete as appropriate). Grief does not make you immune to bullshit.
Finally there is group four who just disappear. This is devastating but at the same time less frustrating because there is no false hope or pretence - group four when cornered are more likely to own their absence. My parents experienced group four recently in the form of their neighbours. Whilst getting in her car my mother caught the eye of the man next door. He simply said to her "I'm sorry we haven't been in touch, we're just not good with the subject matter "... It's pretty shit isn't it but it's honest, it's self aware and it is filed under "this person is not in this chapter of my life ". That's fine - supporting someone through grief is an individual choice. We don't expect unconditional care and attention and actually group four, we still trust you because you were honest to admit your inabilities. This may mean though that things are wildly changed in our future dynamics, we may not see much of you anymore, but we don't need to dwell on this. You promised nothing. Just be aware that if you do decide to get in touch in the future, you still can't escape the subject matter. It happened and it is part of our fabric.
I want to explore the problematic nature of group three. The others take care of themselves and expend very little of your time and worry which is, quite frankly, taken up over intense grief and loss for your child. Group three are difficult because you feel repeatedly let down. Death is not something which everyone can handle and the loss of an infant is shocking. There is no blame attached to fear, and fear is the facilitator for a lot of clumsy comments, silence, avoidance or misjudgement. As a grieving parent I recognise not everyone will be brilliant and supportive, and that sometimes bereavement triggers underlying traumas of which I have no right to undermine. The issue here is that group three are the ones who drift away without even realising the damage being done.
Last night when my husband and I spoke, we realised that there is no simple narrative for grief. One is competely unable to meet for coffee and fill someone in on how their bereavement is going to someone who has not involved themselves in the process. It is impossible to say to someone "well last month I woke up every morning having a panic attack but this month I find myself able to look at the pictures the staff took of him in the mortuary. So how are you? ". Of course it is possible to say these things but it doesn't do grief justice and is relatively unpalatable to hear for the person who has so far kept in awkward, sporadic contact. It does neither party any good.
When someone dear to your heart dies unexpectedly, you are fundamentally and profoundly changed. What sadly happens when you are given space to grieve is the space grows and is unlikely to be completely refilled. If someone leaves their friends and goes traveling, everyone sits back and awaits news. The traveller might send postcards to let everyone know what a great time they are having. On their return they'll likely have a few drinks and recount some tales and everyone will laugh and life goes on. When a child dies the parents leave their social circles for a time, but they don't send postcards. They won't send an update on what happened at the funeral or the time they had to go into the nursery and start packing away the baby things. When a child dies we don't reach out because we are reaching in. We are clutching at ourselves, trying to make sense of it all. We don't reach out because our arms are tied, and unlike the traveler who returns from his journey, our journey never ends. There is never a time we will dust ourselves down and meet at the pub to tell everyone all about it over a pint.
Group three probably lack the capacity, skills or desire to provide the support they perceive a grieving parent might need. Or they may even just lack the self awareness to recognise the detrimental effect that feeding space does. There are solutions found in honesty, in simple gestures which don't require expending unlimited time and energy, in subtlety and in love.
For what it's worth here's my advice to group three. Firstly it is brave to be honest, and the benefits for all parties are far reaching. It is more than Ok to say you can't imagine the pain - you would be right. It is ok to own your own issues - this is about humanity, the meat and bones of us. We are not infallible and we are fragile in mind and body - all of us. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen and join group four! Don't make promises you can't keep. Don't flail around in the sidelines thinking that there will be a curtain call for you. There won't. Grief and sorrow are largely silent and private but that doesn't mean we'd shut you out for caring. If we aren't ready for company, don't make it about it you and feel sorry for yourself. There is a bigger picture but we will never forget that you tried. There are no prizes here, but if you do want to invest in something (and sadly there is a cost here whether you like it or not) you've got to put something in the bank. You want your account to stay open? Promising the cashier money that never comes won't work. If you can't do it group three, just be honest with yourselves. It is desperately unfair to let people down in their time of need and it doesn't have to be that way. If you promise something but don't deliver - who feels better? It might ease your conscience for a while but our bullshit radar has just gone off big time, and just as we will never forget the good in our support networks, we will find it equally difficult to forget the bad.
So suppose group three do want to help but just don't know how? Let me leave you with this; my most cherished family and friends are the ones who do the most simple of things. One friend has sent me a text every day since Freddie died. It always says the same thing - "hugs". She doesn't tell me she's going to, she doesn't expect a reply, she just speaks a thousand words with one. Another friend and I are unable to currently speak much due to each others circumstances but she sends me little pictures and memories of things we did as teenagers every so often. A little hug from a far. Another friend sent me a little card with the letter 'F' on the front. I don't need a counsellor (well I do and I have one but you know what I mean), I don't need someone to fix it because it's broken beyond repair, I don't even need a shoulder to cry on as my tears are usually well hidden from view. What I need is to know the radio is not silent and you care.
