The Hardest Death of All
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The death of a child is so wrong. Children are not supposed to pre-decease their parents. They are supposed to grow up, enjoy life, laugh, learn, love, and live. Some day they are supposed to “lay their parents to rest”, not the other way around. Every father and mother carries that timetable deep in their heart and if their child dies, there is no capacity to comprehend such a reversal. It is not the way life is supposed to be. It is wrong! Hopes, dreams, plans, joys—all lie shattered with no hope of revival. They are ended.
In such tragedies Christians are in a different place than others. On the one hand, there is usually the strong assurance of their young one’s being safe in the arms of Jesus. But that is not where they want their child at this time. They want him and/or her in their own arms. Yes, there is profound comfort in Jesus’ promise. But this comfort is more of a valued belief than a true anesthesia for their broken hearts. Their pain is lessened little. It will never be gone.
Sometimes the death of a child is harder for Christians than for others. It can be spiritually very confusing, and even enraging. If God is seen as allowing, or in some way the author, or gate-keeper, of this terrible untimely and wrong death, personal faith can be shattered or deeply angered. Some, when a child dies, turn their backs on God and never return. Others find it possible to accept it as God’s will, as heartbroken as they are. There are a few for whom the only comfort to be found is the conviction that this unwanted disaster is in the plan of God.
At our church cemetery there is a steady trickle of people coming to visit grave sites. Most of them, by far, are parents who have lost a child. Some are there regularly for years. That underscores the main point here, that the death of a child stands alone and far beyond other deaths.
My observations are limited, but the truth seems to be that most who lose a child survive, regain their strength and spirit, and live again as productive and even life-enjoying people. The loss is always felt, even when a meaningful life goes on. This is the healing of God. God does restore the crushed, even though the pain endures forever.
What can we do?
Believing that God heals is essential for those who love and care. Embracing that conviction allows, and declares, that caring people are not expected to try to make this incredible heartache less awful. Caring people leave the healing to God; they concentrate on love and compassion. They do not endeavor to fix the broken hearted when they put their arms around them. They shelve their remedies and answers and concentrate on loving-kindness.
I have spent many hours with parents where a child has died. I am convinced there is nothing I have said, other than prayer, that has ever made a difference. I am also certain my time with them has been appreciated and helpful. My presence is love. Love is the primary ingredient that may contribute to the healing process.
There is a way of responding to ordinary grief that is pretty consistent. Calls, visits, messages, assistance, food, prayers—for several weeks in most cases. When a parent loses a child, this help should be multiplied many times. Instead of for only a few weeks, such things can be meaningful for a few years.
We believe that God’s heart breaks with those parents whose child has died. What Jesus says, slightly paraphrased, is this: “Inasmuch as it happens to the least of these my children, it happens to me.” What an amazing help that is—to see Jesus weeping with us in our sorrows. That is the posture of the family of Jesus. We must surround the broken-hearted and be broken-hearted with those who have lost a child. That is where Jesus is, and, more than anything else, helps. “Weep with those who weep,” says St Paul.
A few years ago I met an older woman with whom I had to spend some time. She was not married and she lived alone. In our conversation I asked about her family history and the first thing that happened was she began to cry. Then she went on to tell me about the death of her only child at six months of age. It had to have been at least sixty years before that day when we were talking. The heart-break was all still there.
Those of us who have not experienced the death of a child must remember that. It is always there in those who have had a child die. That pain can always be touched in a loving encounter, and the mother or father will always be grateful for an empathic listener— as they are weeping again even decades later.
Another dimension of this is the age of one’s child who dies. Even a 90-year-old who loses their 70-year-old son or daughter is often in deep anguish and will make the wrongness of this death clear when they say, “I should go first!” The issue of losing a child is not exclusively about youngsters.
Summation
Loving-kindness stays tuned to heartache, even looks for it, in order to touch those especially tender places in another’s heart. Not only does such love touch deeply another’s sorrow—it builds a friendship in a special way. So, bravely reaching into the heart of a friend or stranger for tender memories both heals and endears but it also makes an unforgettable connection.
As caring Christians each of us can carry a hidden agenda: namely, we can sensitively be open to, and even looking for, the special hurts in other’s lives like the death of a child.
