From Grey's Anatomy:
“Dr. Webber and I both used extraordinary measures,” Cristina said rather matter-of-factly, “but his heart could not tolerate the surgery. He did not survive the surgery, I’m sorry.” Altman responded: “You’re saying…you’re saying he’s dead? Say it. When you inform the family, you have to say it. Christina, I need you…I need you to say it.” Then the full truth came: “Henry is dead.”
I realized during this moment that there wasn’t a sound coming from me or my tv -- no sad song, no sound effects, no nothing. Just pain and heartbreak and sadness emanating from the screen at one million watts a second. Something happens to you when you experience someone dying. When you're with the person who is not going to survive. I was taken back to that minute, 5:18pm on November 29, 2011 when my Dr. checked Layla's heartbeat and just looked at me. (I have a picture of me, Layla, & Bryan from that second. It is an image of pure heartbreak.) She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. I remember a few minutes later, the nurse said, "Just so you know, the time of death was 5:18."
I've come to realize that I don't say 'it'. I've made phone calls, I've talked to friends, I've commented about the day she was born. But, I just don't say 'it'. Is it really that much nicer to say, "She passed away." or 'She didn't survive." or "She's no longer with us."? Sure, it does sound nicer. But why can't I say it. If I say it, it's real. Right? Maybe I'm not ready to say it. I've even typed it. Or said it in my head. But, honestly, I haven't spoken it out loud.
It's probably not all it's chalked up to be. I feel like it would just sound so harsh and cold and icky. Why is that? Is it because dying is a worldly thing? Because we, as Christians, have everlasting life? Life on earth is temporary. I know that someday I will be reunited with my little angel in heaven. For now, I'll just keep saying 'it' nicely.
4 comments:
I've thought, too, that "it" sounds blunt and cold... but sometimes it seems therapeutic to just blurt it out. I think part of being hesitant to tell people my daughter died is that we almost have to comfort THEM, so we avoid saying it to soften the blow for them. Odd concept, isn't it?
I saw that episode and pretty much cried the whole time. And now that you posted the words on your blog I can definitely see how upsetting that was for you. I haven't experienced a great loss in my life but I can tell you that I will do my best to comfort and support you. A great big hug from Long Island is being sent your way!! Xoxo
Hello, I found you through Tristen's blog. I, too, lost a daughter to Achondrogenesis back in May of 2011. Many of your posts have mirrored my own story. All I can say is He is close to the brokenhearted. This was the one verse I clung to, (and still cling to!) on our journey with our daughter, Carina. We also have a 3 year old daughter. I would love to email with you if you want. I am friends with Tristen on FB as well. Blessings, Friend.
Just wanted you to know you are in my heart.
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