“At least you have your two other sons.”
“At least he didn’t suffer for long.”
“At least you have a strong marriage.”
“At least you have a good support system.”
While all of these things are in fact true, it is in no way, ever, a helpful thing to say to someone who has lost a child. What it does is actually minimize the loss at hand, and can make the bereaved parent feel as if they should feel guilty about grieving their child, and instead (I guess?) prompt them to feel better based on what they do have.
Oh, how we wished it worked that way.
How I wished those two words would be an easy fix and make me feel more at peace with my son’s death. But it doesn’t. It won’t.
Ever.
When those two words are uttered to me, I can feel myself burning on the inside. But I know, for the most part, it’s stemming from a good place. So, I just let it roll off their tongue and nod my head in hopes that the conversation is coming to an end.
I get it. People start grasping for straws, so they try to think of something to say in hopes that maybe it can help pick up the pieces off the floor.
It’s definitely an A for effort sort of thing, but unfortunately an F for making us feel better.
My advice?
Go into it knowing it is not possible for you to say things that will make us not feel the way we do. We don’t expect you to. Can never expect you to.
Just be present. Sit with us. Let us talk. Let us cry.
Be honest and tell us that there’s nothing you can say to even remotely make it better.
I know I’d appreciate that so much more.
The reality is, grief makes people uncomfortable.
Like, really uncomfortable. Especially if it’s a loss of a child.
And it’s because it’s every parent’s worst nightmare.
But it’s my reality; and no one is more uncomfortable than the person who lives it.
It’s in people’s nature to see someone who is sad and want to say something to “fix them.” But this can’t be fixed.
Grieving parents are well aware of all that they have in their life, but it does not justify what is missing. Because what is missing is my third child, my third son.
And there’s no “at least”, in that.
