There is nothing worse than watching young people grieve. I don’t think you need to be a mother to want to wrap your arms around a child who is suffering, and extract the pain. You’d do anything to restore the innocence, wipe away the sadness, expedite the healing.
Grief is something you do battle with. It’s like being caught in a wave. There are times you breathe freely, and times when you’re tossed under. It colors your tastes and changes your concept of time. It turns you inside out. But it also sensitizes you to heartbreak, and introduces you to compassion. It directs you to accept the helping hand you’re being offered, and reminds you that you matter to more people than you thought. If there is light so faint as to come through a door crack, you must try and reach it.
I have conversations with young people who have endured the loss of a parent. I stumble over my words and never know how much or how little to say. I look into their eyes and feel their nervousness, but notice they always make eye contact as if they need it. I wish they could simply absorb love from all the people who want to give it, friends, family, and specifically other parents. There are arms to fall into, hearts wide-open, and most importantly, ears to listen. It’s not easy to recover from such a loss. They shouldn’t have to do it alone.