Actions speak louder than words
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My daughter lost her favourite pre-school playmate to meningitis this Easter holiday. She’s only two and a half so we haven’t told her that her friend won’t be at school when she goes back and she has done nothing but talk about her friend for the entirety of the break. I have spent much of the last week trying to decide if I feel strong enough to face the funeral which in turn has made me feel like the worst person in the world. The truth is that I am scared. Bereaved parents belong to an elite class of people that survive the unimaginable. I can’t
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even begin to understand how this little girl’s family must be feeling after suffering such a momentous loss. We’ve barely spoken beyond a few words when collecting our girls from school so the thought of being present at something so important and so sad is intimidating. What if I feel like an imposter? What do I say to them? What if I cry too much? What if they talk to me? How can I console them?? What can I offer in the way of comfort? These were some of the things going through my head but now I realise that I can’t comfort them. I can’t
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console them or imagine what they’re going through. But I can stand with them. I can stand with them and celebrate a life cut so tragically short and show them that their little girl mattered to me. She mattered to my daughter and her name will long be remembered in my household and I hope that in some small way that that helps. I wanted to share this here because it’s not a much talked about topic and I wondered if anyone else had found themselves in my position, worrying about silly things like saying the wrong thing or crying like a banshee to
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distract myself from the fact that this funeral will be painful for me as a mother. It will change me and it’s likely that the experience will never leave me but it’s the only thing that I can do on behalf of my daughter, to remember her dear friend with those who loved her the most.
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Heidi Foy - 11 Apr 16
My daughter lost her favourite pre-school playmate to meningitis this Easter holiday. She’s only two and a half so we haven’t told her that her friend won’t be at school when she goes back and she has done nothing but talk about her friend for the entirety of the break. I have spent much of the last week trying to decide if I feel strong enough to face the funeral which in turn has made me feel like the worst person in the world. The truth is that I am scared. Bereaved parents belong to an elite class of people that survive the unimaginable. I can’t even begin to understand how this little girl’s family must be feeling after suffering such a momentous loss. We’ve barely spoken beyond a few words when collecting our girls from school so the thought of being present at something so important and so sad is intimidating. What if I feel like an imposter? What do I say to them? What if I cry too much? What if they talk to me? How can I console them?? What can I offer in the way of comfort? These were some of the things going through my head but now I realise that I can’t comfort them. I can’t console them or imagine what they’re going through. But I can stand with them. I can stand with them and celebrate a life cut so tragically short and show them that their little girl mattered to me. She mattered to my daughter and her name will long be remembered in my household and I hope that in some small way that that helps. I wanted to share this here because it’s not a much talked about topic and I wondered if anyone else had found themselves in my position, worrying about silly things like saying the wrong thing or crying like a banshee to distract myself from the fact that this funeral will be painful for me as a mother. It will change me and it’s likely that the experience will never leave me but it’s the only thing that I can do on behalf of my daughter, to remember her dear friend with those who loved her the most.
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I am a 33 year old mother of one, a daughter named Reenie. She's two and a half, currently going by her self appointed nickname Graeme and confirms that she is 44 whenever she is asked her age. I think that says it all.
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