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“My friend just had a miscarriage….what do I say?”

“My friend’s child just died and I don’t know how to help her.”

“My friends are getting divorced and I don’t want to choose sides…how can I be there for them?”

Tough questions indeed. I’ve been the friend in question for all of them and have also had friends go through the same things. It’s hard to know “what to say”….until you realize the truth: there is nothing that can be said that really does what you want it to, which is to make the pain go away and make everything better. Words will never be enough when the crisis is that large.

That said, there is plenty of WRONG things to be said. For instance, when a child dies, do NOT say to the parent any of the following, “God needed another rose for his garden”, or “This will all work together for good,” or, “She’s in a better place.” To the grieving parent, the best place for their child is in their arms, babies aren’t flowers in a garden, and things working for the best may be true but it’s unfathomable in that place.

Miscarriage is tough…grief is certainly present but there’s less visibility, less rite and ritual in the leaving. No funeral or graveside and often, not even a physical change in the body to mark the passage of time. The intangibility plays it’s own part in the loss.

And divorce? Well it’s also a kind of death. To outsiders, who don’t know what really went on behind closed doors, it’s a shock and the temptation seems to be to try to “make sense” of something that just simply doesn’t have enough information provided to add up. It’s an exercise in futility. Friends who’ve been friends with both people may feel hesitant to get involved in any way out of fear of choosing the “wrong” side and without more information, can’t make a choice for themselves. The result is the same for all three scenarios: many times, not knowing how best to react, they simply just don’t act, falling away and out of sight.

Having been there/done that, I know first hand that this is not what anyone wants. It’s a hard place to be in to want desperately to reach out but feel paralyzed by fear of doing the wrong thing.

One of my best friends has navigated this with more grace and love than anyone I’ve known. Once upon a time my baby died and she was at the gathering after the funeral. I tended to cling to friends who were there who’d also lost children, feeling a comraderie with them that was a safe place to be. But worlds are bigger than that and I knew (as did those around me) that my entire support network could not be only those who’d exprerienced it themselves.

My friend who’d lost one child through stillbirth and had another have a nearly fatal heart defect with long hospitalizations gave my best friend this advice, “go to her, don’t wait for her to come to you.” There was more to it than that of course, but in those words came a freedom and security that could almost be touched. In the Land of Grieving, it takes all one has to get up in the morning, to put one foot in front of the other, to care about physical appearance at all, to feed one’s self, etc. There is no energy to make phone calls. There is a mountain of guilt for having already relied on others for support and not wanting to add to it. I could have quite easily stayed in my little hole of a house and not seen the light of day for months, and I almost did. But my friend made the first move over and over again, when I was too weak to reciprocate. She called to check on me. She let me talk about my daughter when I wanted to, not brushing over it as if it didn’t happen or getting uneasy if I brought it up. We did normal things together again gradually. She didn’t get offended if I didn’t call back or rush to ask her about her own life every time we spoke.

It was love in action. She’s doing it again in my current loss, as are other friends. Listening, giving advice when I’m in unfamiliar territory, and hanging out when I need some neutral time. There are also the Silent Ones…the ones who don’t know what to say and feel bad about it. They may be praying from afar, not knowing what else to do. That’s okay…in fact, it’s more than okay because I really do need the prayers! Some of those silent ones will never speak to me again because so much time will have passed they will feel embarrassed, and I, not knowing where they stand, will not press them into a situation of discomfort if I can help it. It happens and I think it’s just part of life.

But if you want to be more than silent when a loved one faces a crisis, here is my advice:

• if all you can do is pray, send a note saying as much. It matters to know who’s been heard from and who has not. And know that there is little “score keeping” going on…that kind of drama just takes too much energy. It’s just nice to know where others are on something.
• keep an eye out for little practical needs that can be addressed….sometimes the best love is a silent deed.
• listen. Don’t tense up if the speaker delves into a place of pain. Your discomfort on hearing it is nothing in comparison to theirs having to live it.
• understand they may not be able to reach out in return for awhile. Or, conversely, maybe they will and it will be therapuetic for them to do so….let them. A Return To The Normal can be a ravishing hunger at times.
• in the case of miscarriage, or some other less visible loss, offer a token that IS visible. For instance, I used to buy stained glass butterflies to give to the mom on her baby’s due date, or shortly after the miscarriage.

My mom has this saying on her wall, “Character is not found on the cloudless day of comfort, but in the crucible of crisis.” I find the same is true of friendship, though some waters are harder to navigate than others.

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