Not again

A longtime friend of my dad's sent me a card after my daughter passed away. With it, he enclosed a story about a woman whose son dies. Enveloped in grief, she asks Buddha to bring him back. He tells her that if she can bring him a grain of rice from a household who has not lost a loved one, he will help her. She goes from house to house, but cannot find anyone who hasn't lost a loved one.

The story, like this blog, is, I assume, meant to reassure those of us who've lost loved ones that we're not alone. It's been running through my head for the past few days. On Wednesday evening, October 12, one of my best friends called to tell me her family had been in an accident and she'd lost her son. This woman was the 2nd one at my house (would've been first if she lived closer) and has been there for me every minute of every day since then.

Today, she is at the hospital where her daughter is recovering. I know when she comes home, she'll be hit with her son's death full force. I'm trying to be there for her as much as I can. After 5 days, I'm completely exhausted. I wonder if I'm more exhausted than the others who are here to help. Seeing her, talking to her does bring back lots of memories I wanted to leave behind. At times, I put myself back in time so I can remember how I felt and know what to say to her. I think that must be taking its toll, probably differently for me than for the others who are with us.

The one good thing I can say is that it's been enough time that I can be there. Until recently, I don't know that I could have gone to the hospital, sat with her daughter while she left the room for a while, held her hand while she cried, or even seen her tired, sad eyes. Somehow, I'm able to remember just enough and then stop.

I remember the pastor who performed my daughter's service saying it's not God's will that a child die, that God's will is in those who come to help. To my dear friend, I can only hope I'm carrying out God's will in some way that helps you.