Why Do We Turn Away?

The last words of this post brought tears to my eyes. They could have been my own pleading words so many times, “Please don’t turn away. Please don’t leave us so alone.” I have written much about the aloneness of grief and how it affected – and continues to affect – us. It still hurts when I think of it.

~Becky

thelifeididntchoose

The news goes out over Facebook, over phone lines, over prayer chains and everyone shows up.

Crowds in the kitchen, in the living room, spilling onto the lawn.

It’s what you do.

And it’s actually the easiest part.  Lots of people, lots of talking, lots of activity keep the atmosphere focused on the deceased and the family.  The conversation rarely dips to deeper waters or digs into harder ground:  “Where was God?”;  “Why him?”;  “Why do ‘bad’ things happen to ‘good’ people?”

But eventually the busyness and noise gives way to stillness and silence.

That’s when the harder part starts.

The long hours of nightime darkness that invite questions that demand answers.  The quiet hours of daylight that insist on playing a home movie of the years that went before. Forcing me to wrestle.  Tossing me in the ring of trying to reconcile this tragedy with my worldview.

And…

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This entry was posted in Death of a child by Rebecca Carney - One Woman's Perspective. Bookmark the permalink.

About Rebecca Carney - One Woman's Perspective

My name is Becky Carney. My husband, Joe, and I have been married for 44 years. We have two living children, Eric (41) and Jenna (36). We lost a baby in utero at 19 weeks in 1987. In 2002, our middle son, Jason (19), and his best friend, Alina (20), were broadsided by a drunk driver who was going at least twice the speed limit. They both died instantly. This blog is written from my perspective as a bereaved parent. I don't claim to know what it's like to walk in anyone else's shoes. Each situation is different; each person is different. Everyone handles grief differently. But if I can create any degree of understanding of what it's like to be a parent who has lost a child, then I have succeeded in my reason for writing this blog.

4 thoughts on “Why Do We Turn Away?

  1. There are those who are strong enough to stand by, long past the news/news feeds/prayer chains, etc., and those who run from such things because either they must, or intiuitively grasp, they cannot do so – – it hurts. it hurt for me then – every loss in my family continue to hurts and I curse the heavens, walk alone, visit over memories when others are ready to, etc., I just can’t live with ‘walking away’ completely – forever, because, still, to this day? That’s what hurt – it hurts the most form those who said, “everyone grieves differently’ and yet, couldn’t bear to witness my form of grief – at all – but have no issue showing up asking for things of me, and telling me when I’m not ‘performing’ up to their standards – – for those folks? Who demand their way of grief/judge mine? Meh – I guess, at this point, I’ll train myself to walk it alone and not count on them for anything – now or ever – – they demand what they themselves, best as I can tell, are incapable of giving

  2. Melanie said, ” It raises questions they’d rather not answer.” I’ve come to believe this is why they turn away. It challenges what they believe. I wish just 1 person out of the some 300 Christians I knew would have asked me those months and years after Christopher’s death, “What have you seen through your grief journey?” Because it is a journey and there is “scenery” along the way. God was so close to me during the worst. Not only did I feel his comfort, he showed me some deep truths and sadly, there is no one to tell because no one asks. Perhaps because they aren’t even aware – and that’s even sadder.

  3. No the hardest part of losing your child is trying to go forward without them. The whys will always be there, but every day I resent breathing, being made to walk thru life as tho it matters. Then the second hardest part is when all those well meaning people disappear. No phone calls, no knock on the door, no invitation to go have a cup of coffee or just sit and chat. The excuses roll on, ” well I just dont know what to say-” ” I am so uncomfortable”,” I cant stand watching her sadness, her tears just tear me up”. Of course they have no clue what your world is like any more, further more they dont want to even consider that horrible thought of the prospect of losing a child. Like by being around you it might happen to them. Oh and the questions, “what happened?” How callus is that question? HE DIED how’s that? The average person is unbelievable! Then if they find out your child died from a drug over dose, forget it-then you get the sideways glances, like OMG what kind of parent are you? or they cross on the other side of the street so not to have to talk with you. Our child was just such a person. He wasnt some slum dog, laying in an alley, robbing stores, or committing any crimes, he became addicted due to a back injury. Little did we know! Oblivious is what we were. We had heard people had this type of issue, but like so many parents of “good kids”, we never thought this would or could happen to our child. Well it did! I wasnt because he was a latch key kid, or had druggy parents, or parents that ignored him. Did we fail him? Yes we did because of our blindness impervious to the very thought.
    The only anger I have is with my stupidity, and with the ones that even conceive it couldnt happen to them, and condemn us as parents. I would give anything to be with him, I cry every day for his loss, and every time I hear of another child that falls prey to this horrible disease and their parents
    not wanting to wake up each day. And you live (if thats what you call it) for however many days God makes you stay here. I have been called “bitter” no I am not bitter, I am lonely for my child. I have been told, “get therapy”, ” get envolved”, ” stay busy”. ” keep your mind active” “volunteer”.
    All which is great advice, but no advice for when you try to sleep and all you do is cry, or wake up screaming your child’s name. This is my life, such as it is.

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