It’s amazing how a well-intended comment from one person can throw your entire day off. Two days ago I ran into a person in our community who I really like (no one connected to our church community, just someone I’ve gotten to know over the past couple years). This person is a Christian and we’ve talked about our faith with each other before. They had heard about our loss and yesterday was the first time I’ve seen them since we lost Micah and Judah. They gave me a hug, which I appreciated, and then began to share with me just about every Christian cliché and platitude I had been warned about.
You know what I’m talking about. Things like “Well, God has a plan…” or “You’re both still so young, God will bless you” or “God now has two tiny angels up in heaven” or “Well at least we know they’re in a better place now” or “Don’t worry – God won’t give you anything more than you can handle” … things like that. Things that people say who may really care about you, and may have deep faith, but things that have a way of ignoring and almost “betraying” your grief. It wasn’t that I didn’t expect to start hearing these at some point, but it was more that I got hit with them all at once. And then while smiling they said, “Well, it’s hard, it’s hard. But not devastating.”
Nope. Wrong. Absolutely wrong.
It is devastating. It pretty much ranks up there with being one of those life-shattering devastating things.
So don’t tell me that it’s not.
That’s all.
Matt G says
These situations always give us an insight on how people deal with their own pain and suffering. Everyone could benefit from a unit of CPE.
Adam Moore says
Amen.
Ivy says
Wow… I honestly cannot believe someone would even think that, let alone say it. We heard all the cliches when we lost our baby, but never something like that. Losing a child at any time is the most heartbreaking thing ever.
The one that got to me and still does is “there must have been something wrong with the baby, it was your body’s way of dealing with it.”
I only tell you to prepare you and your wife for that one. Thankfully the people who say these things have not experienced this kind if pain, hopefully they never will. No one should.
Hang in there. We’re all praying with you and for you. Let me know if you or your wife ever need someone to cry with.
traci smith says
Thank you for this post, Adam. From the moment I heard about the loss of your two sweet boys, I was worried about the cliches that I knew would be coming your way. Cliches add insult to injury, and it’s time that Christians get their shit together and stop using them. I am early in a pregnancy and experienced some spotting and troubles several weeks ago. When I was crying about it, nervous and exhausted, a staff member came up to me and said “If the baby doesn’t make it, it just means its soul wasn’t ready to come to earth yet.” It took everything in me to not punch her in the stomach or the face. I will pray for you and for all of the cliches that are likely to keep coming your way. I hope that this post serves as a public service announcement for Christians everywhere…
Kristi says
Wow. I get the cliches you are talking about…people just don’t know what to say. They are trying to be helpful but just don’t realize that those well intended comments can be really hurtful. But to say that “it is hard…but not devastating”. Wow, that was really low. We had a miscarriage with our first pregnancy at 8 weeks and I can tell you that, that time was the most difficult time of my life. I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to lose not one but two babies and at 20 weeks no less. We are continuing to keep you in our prayers.
beth g sanders says
Though I haven’t experienced this particular kind of loss, I’ve been told in the midst of grief over the loss of a loved one that I must “be strong.” Which is translated to, “don’t cry.” Why? Why do we place expectations on one who is grieving? Why in the world is it not ok for me to cry, or for you to feel absolutely and utterly devastated. As the mother of two grown girls, and a person of faith, losing a child/children would devastate me for sure.
I’ve always intended to write a blog post about what NOT to say to a grieving person. Now I’m more motivated. How gracious of you to recognize and understand your friend’s good intention in the midt of such a painful comment.
You’re in my prayers.
And let us all be much more careful and sensitive to one another.
tobit says
i remember walking out of hospital, nearly 14 years ago, after watching my dad die. He had cancer, and had been unconscious and on life support for 5 days. i remember the sounds of the machines, a lifeless body, dead and still connected to the ventilator. i remember the weeks after. and i remember most, people saying the same kinds of things, and for me, worse of all, ‘time heals’.
WHAT?
nothing can heal the pain, the heart ache. time has simply allowed me to come to terms with what happened.
my heart still aches for the relationship i no longer have.
we went through a number of miscarriages before our first baby, and i remember well the pain and devastation of each one.
I continue to lift you and Sarah up in prayer
peace
Dave Paisley says
Fortunately, when I lost my wife three years ago my close friends are the kind of people who can just be there and not have to say anything. We did talk, of course, but there was little or no trite consolation. It’s amazing to just have people there to be with you.
Many of them sat with me through three days in the hospital and knew close up what was happening. It was the peripheral friends who spout the cliches. But if you have that core of good friends it’s easier to handle the other stuff. I got to the point where I was just thinking, “They don’t know what to say so they’re grabbing for the platitudes.”
I’ve been following your story, keeping you and Sarah in my prayers. There’s just no getting around the fact that it is devastating. You and Sarah will pick up the pieces and move on, but you will never be the same.
Karen says
Ugh. I hope that Fred was with you to give them an evil stare. And I commend you for not punching them in the face.
It sucks. It IS devastating. There are no more words.
Mike Stavlund says
Adam, may the Lord bless you for making space for all of us to rave out a little about the awful thing people say ;-). It really is quite remarkable when apparently intelligent and sensitive people say something that either makes you wish you were dead, or that you could kill them (or both).
Like many who’ve commented above, I too had some wonderful friends who were good enough to just be quiet in the wake of our loss. It did seem like it was more distant friends would chime in with the trite stuff that makes you crazy. I agree with Dave that folks are struggling for something to say (when they prolly shouldn’t say anything) and so they fill in that space with the trite banalities. I remember times when I would hear something in a social setting and feel devastated… I’d mentally check out of the gathering, wander from room to room, then excuse myself and cry all the way home. People can be so cruel, especially when they’re trying to be nice.
In fact, I wonder if these kinds of things are uttered to comfort the one trying to offer comfort, rather than the one who is bereaved. And I’ve even found myself wondering if our constant appeals to heaven, angels, and ‘kids playing with Jesus’ are just a kind of weird group-think designed to pacify ourselves and insulate us from the reality that is right in front of us.
I’m so sorry that folks say such awful things, Adam. Next time it happens, paste a smile on your face, grit your teeth, and know that you have lots of friends who know better. We might not say as much, but it’s because we know better.
Jerilyn says
Isn’t it amazing the shitty shit that some people say? I think it’s ignorance, and I do believe that someday the people who say these things will experience loss and realize they’ve said all of the wrong things, but it’s really too late, and we can only hope that someone doesn’t say those shitty things to them.
CarolCP says
As Christians we talk about heaven being the ideal….but someone dies to get to heaven. All the platitudes don’t ease the pain. Yes, they make it worse. My personal least favorite is “God must have needed him in heaven more than on earth”. No, I don’t think so. I think my kids and I needed my husband more than anything! My kids were only 3 and 5 when their dad was killed – don’t you think they deserve to have a dad???
The one thing I was able to really hold onto is that God’s love is not proportional to crap that happens. He Loves Us no matter what. I believe that God weeps big tears when we are hurt. He has wept many for you and Sarah, I’m sure.
Continued prayers for you.
renee says
job’s “friends” have never stopped pestering people.
eventually- you will see them for the pathetic people that they are. Until then, however- violence is (in this kind of case) an option.
You are not alone.
Mike Stavlund says
Great point, Renee. I wish I could remember who pointed out to me that Job’s friends are right there to deliver perfect *orthodoxy* in those awful times of grief. Which doesn’t please Job, and certainly doesn’t please God. So when someone unloads their perfect thoughts into our jacked-up life, we can at least know we’re in good company.
dave paisley says
While many comments are cliches, very few, if any, are intended to be mean spirited. The truth is people don’t know what to say, so they babble stuff they have heard before. They are trying to comfort albeit failing horribly.
The best thing to do is to just let it go, but if you must say something (and it’s entirely the griever’s prerogative) tell them that that really doesn’t help right now, thanks. If you’re up to it in the moment, try to steer them towards a more understanding perspective.
Another mildly annoying thing that happens is that some people tell you they know how you feel because their pet hamster died ten years ago and they’ve never forgotten how traumatic that was.
Jenny says
I’ve heard a lot of the same kind of things since my dad’s death in a car accident a few weeks ago.
“He’s in a better place.” (I’m still having trouble believing he is gone.)
“You’ll see him again.” (Doesn’t make today and all the days to come without him any easier.)
“You’re strong in your faith so I know you’re okay.” (Faith makes me okay with this?)
“This will make you a better minister/priest.” (I’d rather be a less good priest with a living dad.)
I think one of the hardest phrases, however, was the beginning of a hymn we sang at the first chapel service when I returned to seminary. It began, “Jesus lives! thy terrors now can no longer, death, appall us.” Theologically, I get what the hymn means, but I have seen pictures of my dad’s accident. The terrors of death are appalling. Let’s not say otherwise.
Like Job’s friends, I believe people mean well and want to help. But loss is shocking and terrifying and my life has completely changed. I know my faith has changed and will change, and that does not scare me. In the past few weeks, however, I have been more aware than ever that I am loved and I have seen the body of Christ in a new way because it has carried me. The struggle for me when i hear these things is that the stark contrast of these phrases and my current experience enhances the awareness that I am alone in my grief. To some extent, we are always alone in suffering and I think that feeling as such will always come naturally. How do we learn to make our words, in conversation and liturgy, remind us that we are not alone on such a lonely road?
Martin Campbell-Moore says
I shall never be able to agree that there is any rational or good reason why such things happen, they just do, all too often. I only pray that such things are not the actions, or will of God but of a darker, love free force. That God’s part is to support us at a time he was unable to stop something from happening. Perhaps he, as with us all, is unable to prevent all bad things from happening but shall, in return, try to support us after they do?
I so wish I could turn back time for you both, that I could undo what has happened. As I cannot, I shall do the best I can and pray that, in time, you find your way though it.
Martin, UK.
Vicki Judd says
I’m sorry Adam. I really think people talk too much in a time of grief because they feel compelled to fill the void somehow. As if words alone could take away the pain – make things right again.The hug was a good start. The person should have stopped there.
Still praying for you and Sarah.