grieving parents

The Nicest Thing To Say Or Do After Loss

February 12, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

Grief Quote by Nathalie Himmelrich — Handlettered Quote by Nathalie Himmelrich

Nice things are easy to say or do, once we know what they are…

Having written a chapter about ‘What to do and say instead’ (of those things not to do or say) in the book Grieving Parents: Surviving Loss as a Couple’ I realised that no amount of words would ever be able to conclusively convey what bereaved parents experienced as individuals’ needs are as unique as the child they have lost.

We asked this question “What is the nicest thing a family member or friend said or did after your loss?” to bereaved parents. Here are some of their answers. (This is a long list but you might like to come back to it so save it and share it with anyone you feel would benefit.)

* Note: Have tissues ready.

The nicest thing that people said or did

heart on a string — Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash

She’ll never be forgotten.
Sat with me hugged me and cried with me.
My parents, taking care of both me and our oldest one. Taking days off from work to be with us.
A group of very gorgeous (not to mention generous) friends purchased a star in the name of our angel. On his first Angelversary, we went to view the star.
Bought my rainbow a ton of stuff when I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
A friend offers to pay for our Molly Bear.
Nothing. They were just there.
Speaking openly about my daughter, saying her name.
She said nothing, wrapped her arms around me and cried with me.
Old co-workers of mine purchased a tree in a public park in her honour. It has a plaque with her name.
My stepdad played and sang “tears in heaven”.
My best friend broke the speed limit to get to us at the hospital.
Someone remembered that I craved chocolate-covered gummy bears during my pregnancy and when we lost our son in my 3rd trimester she sent a box of stuff including chocolate-covered gummy bears. It meant so much to me. I wasn’t emotionally ready to eat them at that time so I froze them and ate them on his first birthday in honour of him.
We had friends name a star after our daughter and my cousin built us a cedar chest.
She puts angels on her Christmas tree, and one of them is named after my baby.
I have been very selfish in my grief I think, I always thought no one was there, but our friends bought us a locket, we had a rose given from both our workplaces and a cardigan and blanket handmade from work colleagues.
Friends asked if they could include Marcus’ birthday in their calendar of friends (mostly their young daughter’s pre-school friends) so that they could celebrate it every year. He would have been just 1 year younger than their daughter.
When my grown daughter made me my favourite tea and put me in a hot bath after arriving home. Like I was the child she led me to the washroom helped me undress (I was a zombie) helped me in the tub and sat and listened to me. It was the most powerful moving experience between my 1st born and me, not counting her own birth.
A friend of mine sent me a Mothers Day card which was a week or so after Evan died at 4 days old. Made me cry but I’ll never forget it because he’d thought of me.
My dear friend whom I also refer to as “mom” knit an outfit for us while praying with every stitch.
I think the nicest thing someone can do is just to mention her name. Everyone is so afraid to make me upset. They don’t realize that letting me know that you remember her is a gift.
I will never forget how thankful I was to the few family members who meremembered me on my First Mothers Day (it was my first ever and my first with an angel).
My aunts on my father’s side all chipped in and bought a baby oak tree for us to plant in memory of our son.
My friend bought me my favourite Lindt Extra Dark Chocolate truffles for an entire year. Every time I was almost out more would show up. She even got me some chocolate teddy bears once.
His theme is Teddy Bears because God made his footprints they did in the NICU form a teddy bear. I’ve been getting random teddy bears for almost 2 years now because whenever someone sees one they think of Radley and me. Someone even made an aluminium bear for my husband to put on his semi.
The best thing anybody has ever said was last year, I told her that half of my kids (four of them) are in heaven and she said, “THAT many??! That’s AWFUL!!”
I had two professional photographers offer their services at no cost on two occasions: one set of pics in our daughter’s burial clothes when we dressed her and the other set from the memorial service. I will cherish those photos for my entire life.
It wasn’t what they said; it was how they made me feel. They were blunt, matter of fact, didn’t sugarcoat or diminish what we went through. I appreciated their lack of avoidance which translates into sincere empathy.
Brought pictures of him. I didn’t have many. Meant the world to me. Also a DVD of photos. And put them to music for his funeral.
They encouraged me to attend our church’s “Grief Share” support group. This saved me!
Writing his name in a card, a pot plant for butterflies, filling the freezer with home cooking, and trinkets that made them think of us or baby loss were very kind and helpful.
My best friend sent me a card every single month after I lost my twins to remind me she was still thinking of them and I looked forward to getting one each month. After the first year, she sends me a card every year on their birthday.
A friend of mine from college came over the day after I was released from the hospital after losing my daughter at 20.5 weeks and filled my refrigerator with homemade food. She also wrote a touching note and brought over magazines since I was recovering from surgery. It was the sweetest and most generous thing anyone has ever done for me. It made a very difficult time a bit easier for me.
It was a nurse in the hospital, many years ago…, who said to me ‘I will never forget you until the day I die’. I asked her why and she just said ‘You never moaned, cried, just said “thank you” all the time to everyone who did anything for you, yet we all knew how badly you were hurting both mentally and physically’. Not like me, I must say cause I normally don’t stop talking. She should have seen me cry when I got home!
For me, it was helping with our older daughter, who was 4 at the time. Just picking her up and taking her to run errands with them or do something fun. She needed normalcy and at times I just couldn’t give her that.
Flowers on the anniversary of loss or day was born or just a text thinking of you on those days. Just ones who acknowledged the baby we lost.
I have two friends that brought lunch and came to spend the day with me at least once a month for the first 18 months after my adult son was killed. We still get together about every 4-6 weeks although sometimes at different places now. They drove over an hour each way, gave me permission to say/feel/do anything I needed/wanted to do and just loved me. I would not have made it this far in processing my loss without them. They were/are my lifeline when things feel hopeless and I want to give up.
It’s nearly 2 years since my little girl passed away and I am still touched that my friends and their children still remember her and talk about her.
My sister and best friend made themselves available for me to call (they were in 2 different time zones than I lived then) any time of night.
Some acquaintances gave me a gift card for a massage.
We were given a Rhododendron which was a variety that had our daughter’s name, Marissa. We also received an Heirloom rose variety called Braveheart, which was aptly named because our daughter endured tremendous medical challenges, including a bone marrow transplant. She faced it all with courage, grace, and bravery. Her heart was made of gold.
Very special friends told me “I know you will never be the same person you were, but we love you, our friend & we will always be here”. Very special forever-friends with unconditional compassion…
My dear friend bought me a beautiful baby doll and named her Bonnie in honour of my daughter. My friends were there when we returned from the hospital with love, support and a tiny bracelet with Bonnie’s name.
If they grow tired of hearing me talk about any of our pregnancies and losses, or if they’ve ever grown tired of the tears and anger in moments of vulnerability… They’ve never let me know it. I’m not close to home so care packages, calls and trips to take care of me are all ways they’ve shown they care. A star was named after our first child.
My family was there for us emotionally and full of support. My coworkers purchased a gift card for us to buy a tree, in honour of the baby we lost. All lovely gestures.
There’s been much kindness. I was really swept away by the piece my friend stitched for my daughter. Moved and overwhelmed with appreciation and gratitude.
She always messages or calls on her birthday. She told me sometimes she is sad for her daughter because she is missing out on her best friend, my daughter. They would have gotten into so much trouble together. It means so much to know she thinks of my daughter and misses her too.
My mom had bought our baby a blanket when we were expecting so she gave it to me to hold our daughter in when she was born too soon at 20 weeks and 5 days. She also bought me a beautiful “Heart Reunion” necklace that came with a poem. It’s definitely one of my favourite precious mementoes.
I also had an old friend from high school send me a donation card in our daughter’s name for the NICU. This same friend also set up two butterflies to be released for the PAIL Network Release for our daughter and the one we lost after her that was just so thoughtful. She isn’t even someone I’ve seen in over 18 years and it was so touching that she reached out even after all this time.
I know it may sound weird but one of the best things a good friend of mine did was go out and buy a bunch of clothes for me. She knew I wouldn’t want to wear my maternity clothes and I didn’t fit any of my pre-pregnancy clothes. She just showed up at my house the day after he died with a big bag of clothes in a couple of sizes – including underwear and socks! It was like she read minds!
My best friend made sure I got out of the house to spend time with her every week after my 18-year-old son died in a car accident. I often did not feel like it but it always revived me and allowed me to keep moving forward.
The gift that I cherished the most was simply remembering. Birthdays, holidays, the anniversary of her death…just knowing that we weren’t alone in our pain was enough to get us through one more day.
My sister-in-law, who was expecting her own little boy just 2 months after I delivered Peyton, asked me if she could give her son Andrew, Peyton’s name as his middle name. To this day it is one of the most caring things anyone has ever done to keep my little boy in our hearts.
A good friend had offered to make a quilt of my daughter’s clothes for me. She had it ready and gave it to me on Mother’s Day…..that was 6 years ago and she’s still one of the only people to still talk about our daughter to us. That’s always the best feeling….when people acknowledge that she was part of our family.
A very special group of women commissioned one of our own members to create a “family portrait” of me and my husband after our daughter was stillborn.
One of the most thoughtful things done for our daughter was something her brother did during the funeral. He and his wife were expecting a baby a little over a month later. They lived 10 hrs away and were unable to attend because of the distance and his’s wife’s pregnancy. So he arranged along with one of my sons-in-law, who lives here, to have the service shown live at his church in the town where he lived.
A friend of mine crocheted me a tiny blanket and hat the size of the baby we had lost. Another mailed me a book called Grieving the Child I Never Knew. My husband’s cousin had a locket made with our ultrasound picture in it. And someone anonymously sent me a Mommy of an angel bracelet. My mom and sister sent care packages.
I also had a wonderful friend who I had not seen in four years make a 7-hour drive with her husband and two-year-old to visit and comfort me. We stayed up all night colouring and crying together. It was incredible and exactly what I needed. Miscarriage and infertility are lonely. The love made life bearable.
When I told my grandma I was pregnant, I was unaware that she immediately crochet me a baby blanket. A week later I had a miscarriage. Two months later she told me what she had done and gave me this beautiful baby blanket. It’s the only thing I have for my baby. That was 19 years ago.
My cousin had her baby boy just a few months before we lost our daughter. We were both so excited to be first-time moms together! After our daughter passed she texted me that her son would sit and stare at nothing, then start babbling like he was talking to someone, she said she believed he was talking to our daughter…I cried so hard, but it made me smile as well.
A family friend wrote us a card and said she whispered Aster’s name every day so she would never be forgotten. It meant more to me than I could ever express
I was talking to a friend of a friend once, and we were sharing birth stories. I told her the births of my two sons, and when I was finished she asked about our daughters birth, and I was a little taken aback and said most people don’t ask about her, and she said, ‘that’s horrible, she’s your child too.’
I wish there were more people who were so kind and willing to speak of angel babies.
One of my friends, texting me right back when she received my text. “Just tell me what you need me to do, I’m yours to use” And then she started to ask about specific things.

The answers below are from parents of multiples who might have lost one or all of their babies:

My best friend wrote, “you held him his whole life”. I never thought of it that way and it was really sweet.
Our first Christmas she gave me a heart locket that used to be hers with my baby picture, now with my boys pictures.
My friends coming with me to a memorial service at the hospital (it was also good for them to see other grieving parents).
My friend gave me personalized Christmas ornaments for both of my boys.
That, even 8 years later, that they still remember and think of him.
My friend told me several things I liked, for example: “you went to hell and came back”.
My mom sent me a note for Mother’s Day from all (4) of my kids. I love that she included D on the card. Most people don’t acknowledge him anymore now that it has been 6 months.
“I’m so grateful I got to meet her.”
One of my guy friends sat next to me and just said “that is so fucked up…..” and put his arm around me.
That’s what I needed. No more “I’m sorry” or “it’s part of a plan” or “you still have one baby”. I just needed to hear from someone else how fucked up it truly was.
Someone I don’t know in one of the loss groups said to me “don’t worry about taking things day by day, take them breath by breath”. I took this advice literally many many times.
When my son passed my niece only 3 came to me and said: “I want you to have all your babies, Auntie” and gave me the biggest hug and kiss… she is only 3 and she made me feel like a 3-year-old understand what’s going on.
Honestly, it’s anytime anyone mentions his name. Writes his name down with the other kids, just acknowledges him as part of our family. It means so much when people do that.
It is amazing to have someone so comfortably talk about her with me.
My friend who said “This sucks” and “There is no reason for this or why it happened” and didn’t try to make me feel better but just met me in my place.
“This isn’t how this is supposed to be…”
My mother has made receiving blankets for my angels, bought me a personalized ring and is currently making them all blankets embroidered with their names and birth dates.
My friend sent ornaments for my girls. She lives 9 hours away and my daughters were in the NICU so it was hard to be there in person. She also wished them both their monthly birthdays. About a month into our NICU journey she came to visit and just stayed at the hospital with me. We are 2.5 years out and she still asked how I’m doing and talks about my angel with me. She’s the only person (friend or family) that still does.
They talk about her and include her.
My first mothers day her grandma and grandpa on her dad’s side bought me a stone angel to sit by the flamingo willow my parents bought in her honour and her dad made a space for the tree in our yard and landscaped around it so that the area looked like a heart.
A group of mommy friends had a quilt made for my baby. I sobbed when I saw it. I’ve also received a mother’s necklace with all my baby’s names, a bear with his name for pictures, a NICU survival kit (snacks, books, etc) and a memorial statue. I have some beautiful friends.
My friend who lives across the country started sending me text messages every day, either of something funny to make me laugh or of an inspirational quote. She helped me cope more than she will ever know.
A group of friends I have only met through the internet clubbed together and bought me a Pandora bracelet with charms for my angel! I still wear it every day.
My best friend still writes his name on birthday and Christmas cards 4 years on.
My little brother who’s 18 got a tattoo done with his name underneath.
‘This sucks’. Right after my daughter passed and everybody was visiting me, people were trying to tell me nice things. One person, the rabbi’s wife, looked me straight in the eye and told me that when she had lost a parent that is how she felt. That everyone is trying to say nice things but in reality, it sucks!
My neighbour said something similar: ” F***ing Sh**!” That’s what I felt too and there was nothing else to say.
My friend was there when my boys were born. When I said I didn’t think I could hold Matthew, she told me that I would regret it later. She took his keepsake box safe and private for me until I came home. While I was in the NICU with his twin brother, Caleb, my friend called every day to check on him. She rubbed what she called “his little baseball head”. She brought food, clothes, and love. When Caleb died, she sat with me as I held my sweet baby boy. She just put her arm around me as I wept.
When my husband’s grandma died, his uncle called us and asked if it was ok to list my twins in the “preceded in death” part of the obituary…I was so shocked because most people just like to pretend they weren’t here. That part of our family also put up a photograph of them on the memory table at their son’s wedding.

Remember that what is helpful or nice for one person might not be for another.

5 Things I Found Out Since Being A Bereaved Mother

February 1, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

sad women behind glas — Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash

Over the past five and a half years since my daughter died in my arms and I became a bereaved mother I have come to terms with my New Normal (= the post loss self). Initially I struggled and fought, argued and – honestly – hated much of the personal changes that came with loss. Now I’m able see both sides of the medal, live with and accept the changes and even see their potential.

Here is what I found out about myself since becoming a bereaved mother

Seemingly opposite states can coexist
Strength and weakness, joy and sadness, never before experienced love and overwhelming grief can live inside of me simultaneously.
Experiencing the love for a newborn at the same time as grieving her sister was so confusing. I was in love at the same time as grieving. I was joyful and sad.
People experienced me as strong, when inside I felt weak. I wasn’t putting on a face or pretending something I wasn’t. This showed me that being authentic and real is strength.
I’m less social
Being with a group of people drains me. I prefer one-on-one meaningful conversations over a group of people chatting on a party. Some days I wonder about inviting a bunch of people over and realise that this was something I would have done in the past. The reality of now is I don’t want this anymore.
I can no longer multi task
Whereas before I was easily listening to music while answering a phone call and writing an email, now it’s one thing at the time. This took time to readjust, I can tell you. As much as I love being productive I now need to take this into consideration when planning things.
I’m more honest and forthright
Given before I was more people pleasing and diplomatic, this has been difficult to accept for some people. I’m less ‘socially digestible’ but I’m comfortable with this. It’s more authentic, even if not always easy. I’m also more honest with myself and my needs, which brings me to the next point.
Self-care is most important of all
This is the biggest thing I realised about myself. The main difference to before my loss is that now self-care has become non-negotiable. I have experienced time and time again that both myself and my surroundings suffer, when I don’t look after myself. I’m much clearer about what is good for me and what is not but knowing and acting on it are two different things. I’m still learning to apply this daily.

Maybe one day some of these things will change again. I’m aware of not using phrases like ‘I will never ever again…’ because I don’t foresee the future. As much as I might not be able to imagine something to ever be possible again, the truth is I don’t. There were days I didn’t know how to go on and looking back I have survived. And so can you.

This article was first published February 1st, 2017.

The Complete List Of Do’s And Don’ts When Supporting The Bereaved

January 29, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

On rare occasions, I had ‘friends’ tell me versions of: “Wouldn’t it be time to move on?” or “You’ve got such a beautiful daughter, don’t you think it would be better for her to stop mentioning her twin sister or the topic of grief and loss?” Who hasn’t heard some version of the above? Have you?

I find it hard when people tell me to change the way I feel. Especially when it’s people that haven’t experienced what I have.

Every person surrounding us has their version of what healing after loss looks like. My version is called healthy grieving: I believe in integrating loss into my life, which allows for joy and sadness, reminiscing in the past and full present-day laughter, remembering with mindfulness and gratitude.

There are lots of words written about what not to say in response to grief but not enough about how to respond to grief. As part of the book Grieving Parents: Surviving Loss as a Couple I have made it a priority and my heartfelt intent to help supporters understand how to be with the bereaved. If you find it helpful, feel free to share it with your family, friends and supporters. Remember that this always needs to be applied with respect to the person’s culture and traditions. If something has really helped you, let me know in the comment section, as well as if something does not feel right for you.

The “5 Star Grief Support Guide”, which you’ll receive upon signing up for updates on the Grieving Parents Support Network summarises what I wrote here below:

Things to say or do

Things that made most difference: dropping food at our door, taking Harry out to play… just being ok with how we were.
Gavin Blue, President of Heartfelt Australia

First and foremost bereaved parents have shared with me that supporters should not feel obligated to say anything. What some call the “Art of Presence”, being there is all that is needed.

However, should you feel compelled to say something, here are the three simplest things to say:

I am sorry for your loss.
I am here for you.
I don’t know what to say, I’m at a loss for words.

Whatever you do or say, remember these things:

Acknowledge the bereaved parents, son, daughter, family member of the person who died
Listen but do not try to fix
Encourage and give them hope
Practice the Art of Presence.

The following points are an excerpt of my blog I wrote twenty months after Amya’s death. These are suggestions that help to acknowledge the grieving parents’ pain, journey, and responses. Use your own words or way of saying things.

ASKING QUESTIONS

Inquire how I’m doing, what I’m feeling. Don’t tell me “it must be hard” or “you must feel so awful.” Ask me, but don’t tell me. Ask again tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. Be gentle when asking, it needn’t be an interrogation.

Suggestions:

How are you coping?
What kind of help would be supportive for you? (Make a couple of suggestions)
May I bring some food over tonight?
Would you like me to just be there with you?
What did the doctor say?
Do you have anyone you can talk to?

I’M SO SORRY

This is the simplest and most appropriate sentence. It bridges any “I don’t know what to say” or “I’m lost for words” moment, any awkward silence that you might be tempted to fill with clichés. Don’t. Just say, “I’m sorry for your loss”.

SHOW YOU CARE

The little messages “I’m thinking of you” on the anniversary of my daughter’s or my mother’s death mean a lot.

I hear you
I’ve been thinking of you
You are not alone – I am here for you
I read your blog
My heart goes out to you.

Recently I received a touching message from someone I don’t even know who told me how much my blog touched her. She was a 38-year-old identical twin who had lost her twin sister when they were 10 days old. I would have never known whom my writing touches if she hadn’t told me.

CONTINUE TO INTERACT

I must have stunned many people into silence with my grief spell. It is okay to be contacting me again and again, even if I might not have the energy to hold long conversations. Social interactions are more tiring, yet I still crave to be with people. I am no longer the person I was pre “date with death” and as much as I sometimes want that person back, I have to deal with the New Me. Please try to do so, too.

ACCEPT ME

It’s hard enough to be sad and depressed. I am learning to accept being what I am in any moment. If you can accept that too, you won’t need to make me feel better, offer me advice, solutions, or try to tickle me with humour. Please accept me as I am.

BE WITH ME

There doesn’t need to be much talking. Knowing that you are not afraid of being in my presence, no matter what, counts. Offer your presence even if by just holding my hand.

RESPECT MY SPACE AND MY BELIEFS

You might believe in God or that, “It was meant to be this way.” Whatever it is, keep it to yourself. You cannot know where I stand in relation to your beliefs. Leave me with mine. Respect where I am with regard to what I believe or even where I might have lost any faith and trust.

ACKNOWLEDGE THE DEAD PERSON

I do understand that you might fear my reaction if you speak about my baby or my mother. Do trust that by acknowledging or talking about them you honour their memory. Say their names.

RESPECT THAT I WON’T GET OVER IT

I didn’t really understand the depth of grief before my personal experience. You do not need to understand it to accept and respect that holding my child in my arms as she passed isn’t something that I will get over. I am learning to live with it, whatever that means. Anything can and will trigger the grief and I don’t always know when or why…

TACT AND RESPECT

By all means tell me about what is going on your life, no matter how trivial or devastating it might be. I can handle it if you handle my response with tact and respect. What I do not need at this moment are trivializations of women who got pregnant and didn’t even want to have another child or mothers who abort their baby because of its gender.

PHYSICAL CONTACT – HUGS

There are times when I am very sensitive and do not want to be touched. Please consider asking before you want to give me a hug.

THE ART OF PRESENCE

Be there, not merely in the moment of crisis. Walk alongside me in the months and years to come. Allow me my process of healing. Sit with me in the moments of painful emotions and the darkness of depression. It is an illusion that in times of crisis people need space. Respect someone’s wish, if they tell you so. Otherwise, be present.

The “5 Star Grief Support Guide”, which you’ll receive upon signing up for updates on the Grieving Parents Support Network summarises the above.

The things not to say or do

Even though other authors on Still Standing Magazine have already covered this topic, this is what I wrote in the book regarding things not to say or do.

TIME

It does not matter whether you allow the grieving parent more or less time than they need or make suggestions on what should be difficult or not – comments like those mentioned below are unhelpful as they lead to self-judgment or guilt about the situation experienced.

Time heals all wounds.
It will get better with time.
The first year is the hardest.
Take your time.

DESTINY

Any suggestion on where or how the baby is now or what his or her destiny should or shouldn’t be are wild guesses or assumptions. For any mother or father there is no better place for their child than in their arms now and for eternity.

He is in a better place.
She was not meant to suffer any longer.
It was for the best.
Better it happened now than in x amount of time (days, weeks, months, years).

PARENT’S FEELINGS

Refrain from assuming you know how the grieving parent feels. You can’t know that. These comments cut like a knife. There is nothing that compares to parental grief.

I know how you feel.
It must be hard.
You must feel terrible!

BELIEFS AND SPIRITUALITY

Do not share your beliefs even if you think you follow the same religion or spiritual practices. The grieving parents might not be in a place to feel the same way about their religion or spirituality following the loss. Keep your religious beliefs, spiritual ideas, or ideologies to yourself.

God needed a special angel.
It was God’s plan.
It was meant to be this way.
It was his life’s plan.
She did what she came here to do and it was her time to go.

HOW TO GRIEVE

Suggestions on how to grieve and/or heal are ill-considered. They are based on the assumption that you know better on how to deal with the grief than the parents. Even if you have lost a child yourself, remember that every parental grief is based on their individual story, the meanings, and beliefs they have.

You just need to get back to your old self.
Chin up!
Distract yourself.
You need to… (followed by any suggestion).

COMPARISONS

Each trauma needs to be respected in its uniqueness. Every parent’s loss needs to be heard as its own story and with full attention. There is nothing that compares to the loss of a child.

I know how you feel, I lost my grandmother (or dad or pet).
I can imagine how hard it must be.

CLICHÉS

Say nothing or “I don’t know what to say” instead of any platitude.

Life goes on.
It will be all right.
There is a reason for everything.
It’s all for the best.

YOU SHOULD…

References to what they should be happy about, think about, or do instead are uncalled for. Whether it is fact or not is unimportant. The fact is the parents are mourning the loss of their child.

You have two other children.
At least you had your child for x number of years.
You should think about your husband.

THOUGHTLESS PHRASES

Be mindful of what may slip out of your mouth without thinking. You might be shaking your head in disbelief at these statements below. Trust me, we have all heard them. Better to say nothing at all.

How are things at home?
Was she in pain?
Have another baby!
You can have other children!
You’re kidding!
That’s not good!

INTERPRETATIONS

Over-interpreting, trying to make sense of the inexplicable or finding reasons why the baby or child has died are not helpful. Every parent experiences the why question looping in their mind. Don’t add your thoughts; leave them to

work on that.

Maybe it was because… (filling in your reasons why).

LET ME FIX YOU

Please do not try to fix, or make suggestions on what to do. The grieving parent only knows what it means to lose a child and what they want or do not want to do or be at this specific time in their grieving journey.

You need to keep yourself busy.
Distract yourself!
You need some time to yourself.
You need to look after her (said to the husband).

SILVER LINING

Leave any silver linings out of conversations with parents. If the grieving parent speaks them, it is their prerogative. It is not yours.

It’s all for the better.
At least . . . did not suffer.
You have 3 other beautiful children.
You’re lucky it was early on (in case of a miscarriage).
You are so strong.

¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿ ✿•*´¨*`•.¸

What is your version of healthy grieving?
What does it look like for you?
Share it with me, us, the world because the world need your story of healing.

Let’s start a tidal wave of
#healthygrieving
when you are ready…

¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿ ✿•*´¨*`•.¸

This article was first published February 4, 2015 in Still Standing Magazine.

Gusts Of Grief

January 22, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

My 4 ½-year-old just crawled into my bed, yawning and stretching.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
“Good morning, mum.”
I had just woken up a minute before she turned up at my bedside and was still in the land between asleep and awake. The next thing caught me by surprise.
“Mum, if only my sister wasn’t dead,” followed by a moaning sound.
“Yes, dear, that would be nice,” I reply and gently pulled her closer.
“Mum, did Mimi love me?” (Mimi is the name of my mother – her grandmother – who died from suicide 4 ½ months after her sister’s death.)
“Yes, she loved you very much.”
“Why did she have to die? How did she die?”

Silence. An internal sigh. What do I respond?
Weighing the different options in my head, she’s already repeating her question.
Still, I’m grappling for an answer and I can’t think when she talks.
Telling the truth would be my choice but only if it’s age and situation appropriate.
Finally, I answer by saying “I will explain this to you later” and try to distract her continuous questions along the lines of “but why…?”.

Even though the sea of my grief is calm, I had to learn to live with the gusts of wind that come from the outside. Through her perspective I learn about a delayed form of grief, a yearning for her sister, a consciousness which only started to dawn around her 4^th birthday.

She’s just representing one kind of gust of wind. There are others, which still catch me by surprise.
Today I saw two pregnant women and noticed a tinge of sadness at the fact that I won’t be pregnant again. We won’t have a sibling for little miss bliss.
Our preschool is holding a parent’s evening with the topic of ‘siblings’ this week. I decided not to attend, even though the teacher assured me that the talk would include the topic of one-child families.

And yet, you might say: ‘But you’ve got one.’
Yes, I have one.
Still, sadness over the yearning to mother does not magically get cured because I have one.

~~~~

The day ended with my daughter stroking my stomach.
Pensively she drew her fingers over it and spoke softly:
“Are you sure there isn’t a baby in your tummy?”
I lovingly looked into her eyes as I replied: “Yes, we are sure.”
“Have you looked?” she continued hopefully.
Hugging her tight I felt her head leaning softly against my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, possum, there is no baby in here.”

~~~~

And even if there was a baby, I can only echo the words of a fellow loss-mum on Instagram: “Life isn’t magically better when a new baby comes. In some way grief resets due to all the things we do with S that we never got to do with R.”
There is no ‘Life is magically better when…’ or ‘Grief is magically over when…’.

Shifting to an understanding and acceptance that the emotional relationship will never cease when the physical body is gone makes it easier to accept the ebb and flow of the sea of emotions. I don’t want to call it just grief because truthfully, my life was full of emotions before my losses, grief included.

¸.•*¨`*•✿ ✿ ✿•*´¨*•.¸

And… most important:
Talking about the daughter and sister (or mother) that isn’t physically here does not have to mean ‘not moving on’ or ‘grieving’ – for me, it means
REMEMBERING.

¸.•*¨`*•✿ ✿ ✿•*´¨*•.¸

This article was first published April 6, 2016 in Still Standing Magazine.

Four Ways You Can Support Someone After Loss

January 15, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

Grief is Homeless Love — Handlettered Quote by Nathalie Himmelrich

In my book Grieving Parents: Surviving Loss as a Couple I wrote about ‘The Art of Presence’: “Be there, not merely in the moment of crisis. Walk alongside me in the months and years to come. Allow me my process of healing. Sit with me in the moments of painful emotions and the darkness of depression.”

Recently I have become more and more aware of the powerful healing that can occur if we just practice the Art of Presence.

So here is what I have found to be the important four things you can do for a friend who has experienced the loss of someone they love – and you might like to share this article with them, if you agree:

Be there
Sounds simple. Is it simple? It needs practice, practise to stay with someone in pain, practice to just be. Accept that you might be feeling uncomfortable in the other person’s pain, it’s ok, you may still remain there with them. You don’t need to do or say anything, just your presence will be appreciated.
It is an illusion that in times of crisis people need space. Respect someone’s wish, if they tell you so. Otherwise, be present.
Witness the pain
Bereaved people might openly show their sadness and grief. Others might show strong emotions like anger and rage at the injustice of death having taken their loved one too soon.
Allow your friend’s pain. Welcome their tears. Welcome their strong emotions. A person expressing strong emotions is relieving tension, it is a normal and healthy reaction unless they are likely to harm themselves or others.
Remember the loved one
After the loss, people often want to talk about their lost loved ones. Grieving Parents want to talk about their baby, their child. Remember their loved one with them. Mention their name. Talk about your memories. People are often afraid of the potential of increasing the bereaved person’s pain. Let me tell you, your mentioning the loved one’s name cannot increase the pain that they have already experienced through the loss. Even though the mentioning of my daughter’s name brought sadness, it also brought joy to my heart that people remembered and spoke about her.

Saying less is more
Do not try to fix their pain by saying something to cheer them up or attempting to remind them to be grateful of what the still have. There are so many statements made in a helpless attempt to relieve the person’s pain. Those sentences might be intellectually true but they are emotionally barren. This is why they hurt. Intellectual truth does not mend a broken heart.

I recently heard this beautiful statement, said to a friend of mine by the priest who buried their son:

Grief is homeless love.

Let the grieving people tend to the homeless love in their broken heart.

This article was first published March 2, 2016 in Still Standing Magazine.

Dear Non-Bereaved Parent

January 8, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

I know you care for me and am so glad you’re reading this. I know that you can’t fully comprehend, nor would you want to, what it means to be a bereaved parent. Honestly, I’m still finding out for myself.

To live without my child is not something I ever wanted to learn and yet it’s what I have to. I see that you want me to feel better. Let me assure you, you’re doing the best you can to soothe my pain, yet it is here and will be here… until it lessens.

It won’t ever go away completely and this is ok. Can you be ok about it with me?

Remember my child with me

I hope you will have the courage to remember my child with me until we part. Please remember this: You may speak her (or his or their) name, you may remember her birthday or anniversary with me, whether that is by sending me a text message, card or flowers – it doesn’t matter, it’s the thought that counts.

Please do not fear my tears or my sadness, it means that I’m thinking of her or missing her. It’s not that I am permanently broken or sick, just broken-hearted and grieving.

Please have the courage to sit with me and my pain, without needing to fix it. At times I might say “I need some time to myself” but more often, I do appreciate you being here, even without any words, keeping me company or doing something with me. Other times I might need a distraction and I might even laugh and experience some joy and then feel guilty again and cry in the next moment.

It’s ok, this is life and death: complex and paradoxical and not always to be understood.

The old me is gone

You probably feel that I have changed. You might even hope and wait for me to return to the ‘old me’ again. I’m sorry but that won’t happen. I’m forever changed.

Losing a child is like losing a limb. Even though the scars of the amputation will heal, it’s a permanent change and as much as it sucks, it is what is.

I have to get used to it.

Will you bear the chance to get to know me as your ‘new normal friend’?

I’ve chosen you as my friend because you have a big compassionate heart, yet I know it’s (almost) impossible to understand the unimaginable.

Don’t say things like: “Wouldn’t it be time to move on?” or “At least you have…”

I know you might say those kinds of things in an attempt to support me.

I know you’re well-meaning yet I’ve become sensitive and certain sentences are like shards of glass on an already wounded heart.

Even if you don’t understand, would you allow your heart to reach out and trust the sensitivity of my broken heart? (For examples on what to say instead, click here.)

I might not be up to celebrating pregnancy news, I might even feel jealous of those lucky mothers who are joyously carrying their children.

It’s not that I’m mean, it’s because my heart longs for my child and seeing those mothers with their children is a reminder of what I don’t have.

With time and healing, I will be sad less often or cry less often as at the beginning.

This does not mean I’m ‘over it’.

My child lives on in my heart and I will never get over the fact that I’m never to hold her hand in life.

Please do not confuse my healing with ‘been there, done that’.

My child might have gone with the wind, yet I’m still searching the world for signs of its fleeting presence.

Thank you for being here for me and with me.

Thank you for being my friend and having remained my friend through this.

Thank you for creating a new friendship with my ‘new normal’ self even though we wanted everything to remain as it was…

Thank you for remembering my child and therefore honouring me as her mother.

Wishing you peace,
The bereaved Mother

This article was first published August 3, 2016 in Still Standing Magazine.