This will not be one of my cheerier posts I’m afraid.
We just learned that a neighbor, a mere child of 17, will soon be taken off of life support. Her heart stopped during what we’re told was a routine procedure a few days ago. Her family has been in limbo waiting to see whether or not there was hope of a recovery. Now they must come to grips with the worst news possible.
What does one say to a parent when their child dies? How can words — or deeds for that matter — possibly comfort their anguish? What does one say to the siblings left behind? And how do I tell my children that their babysitter, their friend, will not be coming home?
As is often the case when my soul is troubled I turn to the wisdom of my own spiritual leader, Rabbi Naomi Levy. She’s the force behind Nashuva and author of a couple of best-selling books.
In her most recent book, Talking to God, Naomi has this to say about death:
The truth is, there is nothing cheerful to say about death. Death is not a story with a happy ending. Death is tragic. It robs us of the people we love. But death is also a part of life. We cannot avoid it, and we cannot escape it. Death awaits us as it awaits all we cherish. Denying our mortality is no comfort. Refusing to talk about loss and mourning does not lead to healing or to uplift; it leads to confusion, isolation, and fear.
Yes, I know all this. But to most of us the thought of death is only that… a thought. It’s not real. It’s not something we need to deal with today. Maybe tomorrow. But not today.
But here it is. Too real. Too raw. Too soon.
When the time is right, and now is most definitely not the time, I will share this prayer from Naomi’s wonderful book with my dear neighbors:
A Prayer When a Parent Loses a Child
It hurts too much, God. I can’t bear it. I don’t know how to go on, how to make it through each day. I want to scream. I don’t know how to fit in, how to mourn politely and gracefully. People keep telling me I am strong. But I’m not strong. The best of me is dead.
Everything I do feels false. Every conversation is empty and forced. My face is a doll’s face, my eyes are glass, my smile is painted on. I keep repeating myself — why? why? why? My arms and legs are lead. My heart is in ruins. I remember a time of laughter and love and music and hope. But death came and destroyed all that, and let me a ravaged survivor.
Help me, God. Give me strength. Ease my suffering. Show me how to live in this world when my soul lies in the grave. Heal my heart, God; be my comfort. Revive my hope, God, teach me to believe that I will come to know blessings and joy once more. Stay with me, God; don’t leave me.
Hear my prayer, God. I entrust my child to You, God. Take care of her. Watch over her. Protect her. Spread Your peace over her. Shelter her with gentleness and love. As I would. Guard her until the day when I find myself beside her once more.
Hear me, God. Heal me, God. Amen
She was only 17. Thinking about college and life away from home.
So sad. So very, very sad.
Postscript 1/20/09: She passed away at 3pm today.
Read her obituary…
