I wish you wouldn't be afraid to speak my child's name. Bailey lived and was very important to me. I need to hear that he was important to you also.
If I cry and get emotional when you talk about Bailey, I wish you knew that it isn't because you have hurt me. Bailey's death is the cause of my tears. You have talked about my child and you have allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both.
Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn't shy away from me. I need you now more than ever.
I need diversions, so I do want to hear about you, but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about Bailey; my favorite topic of the day.
I know that you think of and pray for me often. I also know that my Bailey's death pains you too. I wish you would let me know these things through a phone call, a card or note, or a real big hug.
I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over. These first years are traumatic for me, but I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the death of Bailey until the day I die.
I am working hard in my recovery, but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss Bailey and I will always grieve that he is dead.
I wish you wouldn't expect me "not to think about it" or "be happy". Neither will happen for a very long time, so don't frustrate yourself. I don't want to have a "Pity party", but I do wish you would let me grieve. I must hurt before I can heal.
I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I'm feeling miserable. Please be as patient with me as I am with you.
When I say, "I'm doing okay", I wish you could understand that I don't "feel" okay and that I struggle daily.
I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions I'm having are very normal. Depression, anger, hopelessness and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So please excuse me when I'm quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.
Your advice to "take it one day at a time" is excellent advice. However, a day is too much and too fast for me right now. I wish you could understand that I'm doing good to handle an hour at a time.
Please excuse me if I seem rude, certainly not my intent. Sometimes the world around me goes too fast and I need to get off. When I walk away, I wish you would let me find a quiet place to spend time alone. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When Bailey died, a big part of me died with him. I am not the same person I was before Bailey died and I will never be that person again.
I wish very much that you could understand ~ understand my loss and my grief. But, I pray daily that you will never understand.
There's an elephant in the room It is large and squatting, so it is hard to get around it Yet we squeeze by it with "How are you"? and "I'm fine," And a thousand other forms of trivial chatter. We talk about the weather We talk about work We talk about everything else, except the elephant in the room.
There's an elephant in the room We all know it's there We are thinking about the elephant as we talk together. It is constantly on our minds. For, you see, it is a very large elephant. It has hurt us all.
But we don't talk about the elephant in the room. Oh please say his name Oh please say his name again Oh, please let's talk about the elephant in the room.
For if we talk about his death, perhaps we can talk about his life Can I say his name to you and not have you look away? For if I cannot, then you are leaving me.... Alone... In a room... With an elephant.
