Community in Grief

Supporting a Family Through a Loss of a Child
article by Cindy G. Foust

Happy February readers…because January certainly flew by in a snap. That snap can also be referred to as a cold snap, an ice snap or simply put, snowmageden. Except we mostly got ice and really cold temperatures at our house, which makes it not quite as fun to play outside. Well, if you’re 57…because the “young” people on my street, my good friends, the Coles, had several days of family memories in the winter blanket that Mother Nature left us. Sadly, January also left with us with some pretty heavy hearts, wouldn’t you say, as a community, I mean.

For my readers who share in my grief, you know the heaviness that still exists as a dull ache in my chest. The loss of a young life in the Neville community has affected us all, even though I didn’t have the privilege of know knowing Tarver or his family. What I do know, is in this inexplicable loss, something happened to a community that spoke volumes about this family, about this young man, and quite frankly, gave us a glimpse of what real community looks like. As the tragic news spread across social media platforms, and people were called on to pray, that’s exactly what we did. In fact, and entire community fell to their knees in more ways than one, certainly in prayer, but also in heartbreak. We watched as differences were put aside and rivalries were buried and adversaries became friends. We watched as what looked like thousands gathered for a prayer vigil. We watched as students at area schools wore black and gold. We watched as Neville flags were flown around our community as a way to support this family, this school who had lost one of their own. We watched and we ached. I know this all too well, readers, and while I write about silly adventures in my life, or what camping trip to take with your family, or feeding my donkey, I cautiously tread near the subject of losing my son.

It’s hard, friends, to write about something that is so personal and makes me so vulnerable. Still. You see, it was a little over 20 years ago that Scott and I were given then news that our baby would not make it. That’s still, very hard to write, and quite honestly, as I do, hard to read the screen of my computer through my tears. Some people say that the further you get from their death, the easier it gets. I say that’s  a personal experience and for me, while the raw pain has certainly  eased, the loss in your heart, the loss in your life, the loss that can never be voided, is still there. Which is why I have ached for this beautiful family, in the loss of their son, their brother, their nephew, their grandson, their cousin, their friend. Because it’s true, as time begins to fly by, just as the month of January has, the ache does subside, but it never goes away. So, as I sat on my couch this week with the conviction to write about the thing that is most vulnerable in my life, I searched for the words to say.

What introspect could I give to a community that might by chance, read the words of my column in hope of feeling even a thread of comfort? So, I reached down deep and the words began to flow…actually leap to my screen. For I already know what’s in the mind and on the hearts of many, many people in this community, because it’s a shared sentiment. “What can I do?” First, you can hold this family close, close in your prayers and thoughts. Lift them up in a way that they will feel the daily support that they will need to move forward. Next, being there for them sometimes simply means “sitting” with them in silence. There will be times when they will want to talk, and some days when they won’t want to utter a word. Allow them the space for both. Make it safe, so they feel the comfort in knowing that both is okay. I lost a few friends during those first few years after we lost Samuel, because I “wasn’t myself” and I “didn’t take their calls” or when I did take their call I “didn’t want to talk.” Thankfully, we found our way back to one another, but the black abyss that you are in is so encompassing and overwhelming that you don’t want to worry about making conversations about someone’s vacation or what color they are painting their kitchen. The best thing you can do, is let them be what they need to be in that one moment. Because there are days when you are simply trying to get from one moment to the next. Also, and this one is big, let them talk about their child, as much and as often as they want. I had someone tell me that talking about Samuel made her uncomfortable. After that comment registered with me and I called her a name that rhymes with itch, (just kidding, don’t anyone panic that I’m going to use the first curse word in my column in 11 years…I’m just trying to lighten this heavy, heavy mood), but I simply told her that talking about him made it feel like he was still with me. In retrospect, the truth is, Samuel will always be with me, whether I talk about him or not. 

I have found ways through the years to keep him close and his brother and sister (who never got to meet him) have been very intentional in keeping him close as well. It will be so very important, so critical in the healing process, to be able to talk about memories, to laugh, to cry, to scream, because all of those emotions, while they are very normal, may come all at one time. And that’s when it will be just okay… let them come. We will never understand this senseless tragedy. We won’t. And we will spend all of our days trying to make sense out of something that just doesn’t make sense. We want answers, right? We want to know why…it’s human and it’s the one thing that all tragedies have in common. But while we don’t have an answer, we do have the capacity to lock arms and move forward in a way that will honor Tarver’s life. We can do things and say things and commit ourselves to holding this dear family up that allows them the time and the capacity to heal. It may feel, right now, and likely does, that healing isn’t possible. How long those feelings last just depends on the person…grieving is such a personal process, and everyone goes through it in their way. Allow them to. It may look different, or seem different or feel different, but respect the way that they are moving forward, because the most important thing, is that they do. And my prayer for them, is that they feel the love, the prayers, the thoughts of an entire community, young and old, as we continue to wrap our arms around them.

Cindy G. Foust is a wife, mom, author and blogger. You can find her blog at the alphabetmom.com for weekly columns about home life,  parenting, small business stories and insight with a smidgen of literacy. Give her a like or follow on Facebook and Instagram.