As a teenager, I experienced what other beach walkers sometimes came across.
Watch your step, or you might feel the slime of a jellyfish.
No one wants it to happen. No one, except kids and teens who adore the discussion of disgusting things, wishes to talk about stepping in the jellyfish.
On a greater level, grief of any loss is similar to accidentally stepping on the jellyfish. I accept as months and years pass, some people may feel uncomfortable of any discussion about grief. I understand some may hide my posts of my daughter or writing about grief because it is uncomfortable enough to make Aunt Mildred shift in her chair when the discussion is unbecoming.
But grief, like a stepped on jellyfish, is not pretty.
We need to talk about it, just like mental health, so bereaved parents, like John and I, do not feel alone. No one should feel alone during the holiday season, COVID-19 isolations, or … just ever.
I never want any person to experience this loss.
But I do hope people pay attention. I hope they pay attention in that there are so many others besides myself.
In the book, Healing A Parent’s Grieving Heart: 100 Practical Ideas by Alan Wolfelt wrote: “In the United States alone, more than 100,000 children die each year.”
That number was in 2002, and it did not include miscarriages, stillbirths, or babies who die soon after birth. Wolfelt also mentioned that the number leaves out adult children.
Internationally, he states, that the number is greater in other countries, especially infant mortality.
What we all need to remember is that I not only write this blog about our family’s grief and growth after Corrie earned her wings, but for the countless other bereaved parents in the U.S. and around the world.
I promise you, no matter who you voted for in the 2020 election, there are parents on both sides who lost a child, and felt the greatest heartbreak a person could feel.
As I move forward with Corrie in my heart, I ask not for others’ pity, but for people to remember. I request people not scroll past if it makes you uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable when some people post pictures of political signs in front of graves. It makes me want to ask: Do you know the story behind that grave?
For example, when I went to check on some of my graves one day before Corrie’s grave marker was set to arrive, I discovered some more babies’ graves. They were all in one family. This is not my first find of one family to have lost more than one child. All three grave markers had a lamb and the name of sons. Only one lived past a day. I thought, not of the sadness, but of their mother’s strength to move forward in her life. I thought: What can I do to make this world better?
My medication and therapy has helped tremendously, but I also believe that taking action is a must. I wrote about proactive steps.
I don’t care if it makes someone uncomfortable. I have to write for the parents who’ve lost their child, bring flowers and clean graves. I have to talk about my daughter and the other children who earned wings too early. It is not a loss you sweep under the rug, and in a very 1950’s style, say, “That’s done.”
No, grief over a child is never done. You learn to walk in a pair of shoes no one wants to wear.
As time moves forward, I ask: “What can I do that makes a difference and honors Corrie?”
I believe Corrie would want me to write and raise awareness about parents and siblings who’ve lost someone special. She would want me to raise awareness, and do something with it.
One of my co-workers shared a post about how it’s okay not to be okay this holiday season. I think that is definitely true. We have to form plans that work for each of us individually, and understand that one person’s grief may look different than another.
I hope you read. I hope you remember in your heart the parents who’ve lost children this year and in previous years.
I hope we can begin with the acceptance of these truths:
A miscarriage is the loss of a person.
The loss of a baby at birth or soon after a birth is also a great loss and whose life matters as much as a beloved grandparent who has lived for 90 years.
The loss of a child, who is an adult, is just as great to a middle age or a parent advanced in beauty and wisdom.
No parent ever believed “This is my child’s time,” and “I’m sorry for your loss” says enough.
The sibling(s) left behind hurt just as much as the parents.
This holiday season, I will turn sorrow and somber into beautiful recognition. I will take Christmas flowers and trees to some of the graves. I am thinking of ways to raise awareness for babies and children without grave markers in the cemetery where my daughter’s body rests.
Just as the line from the Bible reads, “Remember me when You go into Your kingdom,” remember the children gone too early.
I am thankful for my son, Hayes, just as much as I was for my Corrie.
By Rebecca T. Dickinson, Corrie’s Mom
Corrie's Season 