086 - The loss of a story can really hurt.

Welcome back. Or welcome.

I hope that you sent someone a note. Or an email. Or a text.

I hope my reminder was encouragement, not nagging.

Some people you know might benefit from a simple acknowledgement. (I’m working on this, too. (or just send them this newsletter!))

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On the loss of what hasn’t (and won’t) happen.

I’ve had many conversations with people whose baby died before birth.

I sometimes say something like this:

“And here's something that I realized a while back. When a 90-year-old dies, we tell stories about what has happened. When a child dies after 24-week gestation, there are no stories in the past.

BUT there are many stories that had started to be written about the future. You two had started to individually and together write stories about what you would do and who you would be and who she would be.

You started thinking about names, about trips to the zoo, about all kinds of things. And those stories are just as real, just as mind and heart forming as the ones the 90-year-old actually lived. 

So you are starting to grieve stories that aren't going to be finished. And that is real and that is hard.”

It matters to let parents know that it’s permissible and appropriate and understandable and human to grieve what won’t happen. And to tell grandparents, too.

And it’s not just lost stories about babies that hurt.

Lost stories about relationships, lost stories about projects, lost stories about freedom, lost stories about dreams. All of these can make us cry. Can take us into seasons of grief. That can last a long time.

Sometimes, the most helpful thing we can do is to say, “It’s really hard that that story won’t be told.” And give space.

The time for thinking about new stories may come. But the more we force new stories without acknowledging the lost stories, the harder we make it for ourselves and each other.

And when the story is about a person who didn’t get to live, be gentle.

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On rituals of accepting and releasing

A few years ago, I wrote about a practice I had of picking up a rock at the beginning of a shift and releasing it at the end. My hospital shared that story again recently.

I stopped that practice in the middle of the pandemic when it felt like there was no divide between work and life. At the time, it made sense.

I’ve started to think about starting again. Finding the boundaries between our work and play, between our caring and ourselves, between what we are responsible for and what we can release is healthy.

Sometimes the right questions help us remember.

In 2020, I created an advent journal for a year when things fell apart. I had short questions to invite remembering. It was helpful for some of us.

In 2021, I turned it into a journal for any year. Giving the Year Meaning: A Healing Journal for Advent.

As one reader/writer wrote in a review,

This simple little journal/devotion helped me focus on what is really important, after a year that was really difficult. I liked how simple and uncomplicated it was. It didn’t require a lot of heavy thinking and writing, and yet you could easily do that if you chose. This year for advent, I needed simple. This little journal can be used over and over, and can be used anytime, really.

I’d love for you to check it out as a way to help us all make sense of the year.

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Thanks for stopping by. Thanks for the support. And for those of you who buy me coffee.

See you next week.

Jon

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