I Am Sorry

What do you say to a mother whose baby has died?

We bereaved mothers have a simple yet impassioned cry

please, begin with, “I’m Sorry.”

We bereaved mothers believe this ought to be a simple concept, and a simple thing to do.  After all, you are not actually even taking responsibility of the cause of the death of the baby or even the cause of the person’s bereavement.  Yet, receiving the simple message of “I’m sorry” seems to be something so very many of us struggle with actually getting from our loved ones.

I wonder why that is.

I have challenged myself to consider that perhaps it is, in part (among other very real social issues) because, we tend to have a culture that is not sorry-friendly.

Apologizing is hard to do.

It seems it’s nearly always met with internal struggle, and sometimes, outward struggle as well.  Will our apology be accepted?  Will it make us vulnerable?  Will that vulnerability be used against us?

I think most of us wrestle in some ways with apologizing.

So I am challenging myself, and inviting the public and all who read this, to help gently hold me accountable, to opportunities in which relationships and situations might best be served by beginning or including an apology.

Because, after a really good, richly deep, soul filled apology, one that includes empathy, compassion and love and leaves the blame, shame and fear behind, I have to tell you, the feeling truly is magnificently refreshing, intrinsically rewarding.   The feeling is goodness, and goodness is something worth striving for.

I-am-sorry

Will you take the challenge?

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BIRTH & BEREAVEMENT QUOTES
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She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.

— Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.

— C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

I am strong.

— January, founder of Birth Without Fear

When someone you love dies, and you’re not expecting it, you don’t lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there’s a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she’s gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.

— John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany

They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite.

— Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince
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