Making it right

Everybody wants to find the magic words to make things okay.

There are no magic words to bring Hudson back, so words will always, ALWAYS fall short.

The devoutly religious often go with something along the lines of: “God doesn’t give us more than we can take.”

(P.S. This is thrown around a lot in grief situations, but the original Bible verse has nothing to do with loss/grief and more to do with temptation… Bible Bowl Champion calling you out!)

The non-religious folks will give me: “I’m sending you all my positivity and love.”

And then there are the people in the medical field, and they want to know:

“Do you think you have a lawsuit?”

Nurses. Doctors. People who took EMT courses. Anyone who’s ever seen a labor/delivery situation wants to find somebody to blame, and then they want me to go get ’em.

Right after Hudson died, this was the last thing I wanted to hear.

I trust my doctor. People wanting me to go find somebody to hold accountable always made me feel defensive, like maybe I was being naive to trust my doctor, like I was letting myself be taken advantage of. I also didn’t like the feeling it gave me… that sick, “What if?” feeling in your gut, the “If only…” path your mind can travel that makes you believe there could have been a different outcome, that teenage highschool angst knot-in-the-gut-region.

Can finding somebody to blame for Hudson’s death bring her back? Eye for an eye?

Nothing makes this right.

But I am no longer infuriated by the question:

“Do you think you have a lawsuit?”

Just like the religious gang wants me to know that God will give me strength, and just like the non-religious gang wants me to know that they are sending me their positivity, and just like some people just want to give me the big juicy heartfelt hug, this is just the medically-knowledgeable person’s way of saying: “I want to make this right for you, and I don’t know how.”

I’ve mentioned it before on this blog, that I’ve learned to cut people a little slack. Being close to somebody going through a difficult time is extremely hard.

How inadequate words feel.
How inadequate that carload of casseroles might seem.
How inadequate we are when we cannot change the hurts our friends and loved ones must face.

Just like everybody has their own love language (acts of service, gifts, etc.), everybody has their own grief-coping language too. Just because I don’t necessarily speak your grief-coping language doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate your intentions.

We want a different life. We want a different experience. We want a different outcome. We want a different perspective. We want to make it right.

Nothing will ever be right when you lose a child. It’s unfixable.

But the prayers, the positivity, the questions, the casseroles… help to make it bearable.

4 thoughts on “Making it right

  1. Kirsten says:

    I found your blog through Alison Jenks. I read through most of it in an evening… I can’t even begin to tell you how much your story is weighing on my heart right now. We have an almost four month old girl, and just reading your blog and seeing your hurt… I’ve hugged both my girls a little tighter the past couple days. I am so, so sorry for your pain. You seem like such an amazing, strong woman and I am in awe of your hopeful attitude.

    So anyway… I just wanted to write you a note to say thank you. Thank you for sharing your story.

    • MommaDub says:

      Thank you for reading, Kirsten. I am glad to hear that your baby girls are getting some tighter hugs – it’s one of the best feelings, isn’t it? We have so much to look forward to. It really is comforting to hear that our story has helped others in any small way, so thanks to you for your note.

  2. […] this thing people who are religious say to you in an attempt to make you feel better: “God doesn’t give […]

  3. […] expressed my frustration with the whole “God’s plan” business a time or two. I cannot wrap my mind around a God who would plan this. And there is no “Greater Good” […]

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