I've been consumed with sadness and grief these past two weeks -- my thoughts revolve around my bereaved friend and her family. Her husband was a kind man with a generous heart. When Oscar was first born and I was steeped in the shame and grief of having a child with a disability, he did not shy away. Instead, he gravitated toward Oscar. He would gather my floppy and unresponsive infant from my arms and hold him, calling him "Sweet Oscar". For nearly two weeks now I've been hearing his voice softly calling "Sweet Oscar! Sweet Oscar!" I hope I thanked him. I hope he knew how important that was to me. I hope he knew that gestures like his opened my heart to love and the possibility of a happy life, even with PWS. I hope he knew.
I spent the weekend in their new hometown, amongst throngs of friends and family that gathered for his memorial service. We supported our friend the best we could, but then we had to board our plane for home. Leaving there was one of the hardest things I've done, ever, and I found myself doubled over on the sidewalk outside her house sobbing "I can't do this. I can't leave her. I -- can't -- leave -- her!!" I just wanted to crawl into her bed, wrap my arms around her, and shield her from the frightful, searing pain. Patient friends and her wise mother helped me see that we had to leave. She needed rest and quiet days with her family. This will be a long journey and leaving her then was not abandoning her forever. We will go back, we will listen, and we will remember. I think that is all we can do.
I wish I had words to comfort you, but I don't. I'm sure that your love and friendship for your friend, your understanding of her suffering and your deep compassion will be a source of strength for her. And you are strong and will bear it all.
ReplyDeleteYes, listen, remember, share your stories, like this one about Oscar.
ReplyDeleteIt is easier to support somebody when you are right there, but you can do it from afar. I have a friend who called me about once month the first year after Henry died. She called when she knew she had some time to really listen and it was a true gift. One of my cousins sent flowers or just a thinking of you note here and there, sometimes on an anniversary, sometimes just out of the blue, and they always seemed to come just when I needed something. My sympathy to your friend and to you.
Oh this is so hard for you, and your friend, I can't imagine. I hope that over time sweet memories like this will be able to comfort you.
ReplyDeleteI think Elizabeth and Sara are right: sharing memories of him with her is a great gift, and reminding her that you love her, when you think of her, is a simple but powerful way to touch her with tenderness and comfort, even from afar. Let your heart guide you. God bless you, your friend and her family.
ReplyDeleteMary, I am sure your friend is smiling down on you, murmuring "Sweet Oscar", proud of the great mother you have become.♥
ReplyDeleteI'm sure he knew that in your friendship to he and his family, that you love knew no bounds.
Once, someone told me that I should remember my grandmother with a smile instead of tears when I spoke of her. And I've tried to stick with that advice as best as I can.
I think someday, you'll be able to do the same. Tight Hugs for You.
Lee
You probably did thank him, whether in words or in smiles. Besides, someone who would take the disabled baby into his arms and call him "Sweet Oscar" wouldn't even expect thanks. He probably wanted to thank you and Oscar. People like that are too few. My thoughts to your friend.
ReplyDeleteI just thought I'd comment again and let you know that I'm thinking about you and hoping that your heart isn't too heavy with all the things you have to bear of late.
ReplyDeleteThanks Elizabeth, and everyone(!) for all your kind thoughts and words. Sara and Karen -- as I talk with mutual friends about how to support our friend I find myself telling your stories, and Henry and Katie's stories, and what you have found to be helpful and meaningful. Thank you!
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