Every Parent’s Worst Nightmare

This morning there was an email from my dear friend, Kathy.  Subject line:  Victoria’s passing.   Victoria being her only daughter who is a few months older than Joseph.  Kathy hadn’t shared that Victoria was sick or anything, but she’d mentioned that she’d had been taking different courses.   So I thought maybe Victoria had passed a course or something.

I opened the email and had to read it again and again.  This wasn’t possible, it just wasn’t.  Victoria had been killed in a car accident yesterday morning.  I ran to tell Marc.  As the words tumbled out of my mouth the tears flooded my cheeks.  Marc was instantly in tears too.

All day I couldn’t focus or think straight.  My whole being ached for Kathy and Jerry, their son Jerred and Victoria’s husband, Brian. The unimaginable pain they were suddenly in.  Their world turned upside down forever.   In town, walking through the parking lot of the grocery store, it didn’t seem right that the sun was shining and everyone was going about their business.  I only saw shades of gray.

And now in the quiet of the evening when everyone is asleep, my heart turns to them again and again.  Only I realized something quite new.  I have no desire or impulse to do or write or say anything to them in the hopes that it will help.  I know all too well that there are no words that will give them even the slightest bit of consolation at this time or for months to come.  None.   And in a way it is freeing.  I’m free to just be there for them, knowing that it’s not my responsibility in any way, shape, or form, to fix anything and they’re not expecting me to.  There is nothing to fix. All they need from me is: an open heart, a closed mouth, two listening ears, two arms to hug them tight (if they lived closer) and to not be afraid to cry with them.  I know I can do that.  I know it like I’ve never known it before.