This weekend would have been my niece’s 11th birthday. Tragically, she died in an accident a few months ago, so she will forever stay that magical age of 10, halfway between little kid and pre-teen, when hugs are still OK and the teenage cynicism hasn’t yet unfolded. We have all been watching this day creep closer on the calendar; I know that marking the occasion fills me with grief and fear and a general anger at the universe. When someone young dies, there is a terror that lurks at the edges of the grief, mocking any semblance of normalcy, letting you know that life can change in a second. I often still find myself stumbling around in the darkness, feeling upended every time I see a picture of Reagan. Most of the pain I feel now, after the numbness faded, is for her parents. I want to take their pain away and MAKE EVERYTHING OK. I think that is part of the terror – the helplessness.
But we aren’t completely helpless to fight the terror and the darkness. What we have is compassion for one another, and the ability to stand shoulder to shoulder with the grieving and let them know that they are not alone.
Let’s be kind and remember that we are all dealing with some kind of loss, some big and others small, but all worthy of gentleness and consideration.
