Got Kindness?

  Before you know what kindness really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,

what you counted and carefully saved,

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness….

-Naomi Shihab Nye

(For full version of this poem, click here.)

Now I do not claim to be a connoisseur of poetry, but I do like to dabble from time to time.  And my dabbling usually begins during times when my world seems to be crashing in on me.  Some might say I’m not such a dabbler after all. So needless to say, after we lost Wyatt, I turned towards volumes of poetry in an attempt to find something that spoke to my heart.  When I came across this poem, it didn’t just speak to me, it was screaming “Read me!  You know me!”.  This is hands down my favorite poem as it resonated with me so much on that day that I found it.  Every time I have read it thereafter it resonates with my heart just the same. 

You see, I truly believe that at the end of the day, kindness really is the only thing that truly matters.  It seems like such a simple thing, but really it is incredibly complex in its abilities to express love, fondness, concern and care.  It is, in my book, the essential key to healing.  When you have truly lost something so dear to your heart, kindness can speak to you in ways that no one or nothing else can.    So, I write this post to speak to you of kindness.  How I have been so fortunate to have experienced so much kindness in my hardships.  How kindness knocked on my door so many times until my heart felt repaired enough to be kind to others once again.  How I feel that all of these kindnesses contributed to my healing, my hope and my courage.  How all of these acts of kindness were my healing, my hope and my courage.  How once again, acts of kindness are my healing, my hope and my courage.

I have heard all too many times how the unfortunate words of others, in an attempt to encourage the broken-hearted mother after a child’s death or pregnancy loss, have caused further heart-break.  I am not sure that these speakers have meant any harm in their unthoughtful words, but I am also not sure that kindness and compassion were backing them up either.  Sometimes people have other agendas when expressing their condolences, such as saying things to make themselves feel more comfortable, to make the situation less awkward, or even to somehow try to remove the pain or fix the situation altogether.  I promise you, none of these things are possible.  Regardless, I will have to say, I have been most fortunate in my losses to have had very few of these experiences.  Instead, I have been the recipient of much kindness and thoughtfulness and for that my heart is abundantly grateful.  I would like to speak to some of these acts of kindness that have touched my heart along the way.  Please know that I cannot possibly mention them all and on this day, these are the ones that speak to me in the moment, but if you have bestowed an act of kindness on my heart and I have not mentioned it here, I promise you me and my heart remember, and we hold you and your sentiment close by. 

First of all, I have been so very fortunate to have been in the care of the most amazing team of compassionate professionals possible.  I will not be able to mention them all, but I do believe that I have had two of the best OBs in town.  Maybe I am biased but the love, encouragement and care that they have both bestowed on me will never ever be forgotten.  The OB that I had with Wyatt sat at my bedside, held my hand and wept with me after we both lost that precious, beautiful boy.  She gave me her home number, cell phone and pager and encouraged me to call her whenever I needed to talk (who does that?).  She met with us whenever we needed to discuss “what happened”, to ask questions, and even offered that I ask her the toughest question of all:  what could she have done differently.  I didn’t.  Her kindness was enough.  Then there was the OB we had when we were pregnant with Abigail (we switched for a variety of reasons, none of which had to do with the care we received from our first OB). I knew in the instant that I met her that she was going to give me everything I needed in terms of kindness and compassion, right along side her reputation for incredible medical care.  (There was an OB briefly in between, but we won’t talk about her, kindness was not her primary motive and I marched myself right out her front door).  Throughout Abigail’s pregnancy, which was filled with anxiety and fear, she too held my hand, provided me with an abundance of encouragement, reserved last appointments of the day for me so that I could have all of her time that I needed without ever feeling rushed.  Towards the end of Abigail’s pregnancy we were even exchanging poetry.  I gave her Nye’s poem (the one mentioned above) and expressed my gratitude for her kindness.  She gave me one on courage.  Amazing kindness. 

There were also the labor and delivery nurses with Wyatt.  They were with us for a long and challenging labor.  They laughed and joked with us throughout the labor and then they cried and cried with us when things took a horrible turn for the worse.  And then they hit me with the most unexpected kindness.  They showed up at Wyatt’s funeral service.  I have no idea how they knew when it was or where it was, but they were there, and my heart still holds that memory and emotion of their kindness very very tightly.  And while we are on the subject of Wyatt’s funeral, I cannot even begin to tell you the acts of kindness that were displayed by so many.  First of all, my family.  Everyone lives out of town, immediate and extended.  Everyone was there.  Friends poured through the receiving line just the same.  I was humbled and touched by the sheer number of people that came to share our sadness that day.  The small private practice I worked for shut down so that all could be there.  An amazing friend and her husband drove all the way from North Carolina and then drove back the same day, just to offer me some kindness.  This same friend, a couple of months later, left her family for a long weekend just so she could sit with me and my pain.  Another friend of mine who had recently moved to California couldn’t be at the service, so she sent her mom.  Her mom.  I had never met her mom, but she came to my son’s service to relay the message that her daughter was thinking about me.  Sensational act of kindness.  You see it’s the little things.  The little things that make a big difference to a broken heart.  And I cannot leave out the priest that did our service.  He said the most amazing things in regards to a child that none of us really got a chance to know.  It was as perfect as a sermon at a funeral service could possibly be.  And I’ll be honest, I can’t recall a word that he said, but my heart most definitely remembers it was kind. 

           

Once we were home to settle in our grief, the kindnesses continued.  Each and every card, flower, meal, care package sent to our home was a kindness created to heal my heart bit by bit.  Some days these were the only times my head and my heart lifted enough to see the light of day.  My employer gave me as much time off as I needed.  Genuine kindness.  My co-workers embraced me with open arms and ears when I came back.  Appreciated kindness.  When I was pregnant with Abigail, one co-worker even gave me a baby gift a week to symbolize hope for the arrival of our little one.  Unique kindness.  But I will have to say that no one offered me as much kindness and support as the children that attended the preschool center I work in.  I had to tell them my story because they knew I was having a baby.  We talked about it often, they were almost as excited as I was.  Then I had to return empty-handed and tell them the truth.  They listened, they asked real questions, they wanted to see pictures, they were better at handling my grief then any adult could dare to be.   Children are the kindest of all.  And there is one child who offered me so much kindness, that my eyes well with tears as I begin to tell his story.  I may have had a recently appointed angel looking over me in heaven, but this child was my angel here on earth.  Some days his kindness was the only reason I made it through the day.  This amazing, four-year old child greeted me on my first day back by running down the hall and jumping into my arms, telling me how sorry he was that I lost my baby.   This child asked his mom if they could give me their baby (she was expecting too) because he knew my heart was so broken.  This child sought me out every day just to give me hugs because he knew I needed them.  This child defines kindness.  I hope this child remembers his kindness and how it healed my broken heart in my darkest of days. 

And the kindness resumed when people heard about our recent loss.  Although this loss may have seemed to others less tangible, less significant or less traumatic for us, this was not the sentiment that was displayed through the kindnesses of those close to us.  Almost instantly, a BonBonerie cake (for those unfamiliar the best cake in Cincinnati) and a bottle of wine were brought unexpectedly.  Instinctual kindness.  Thoughtful friends brought meals.  Yummy kindness.  Flowers showed up at my doorstep.  Pretty kindness.  Our neighbor’s parents caught us off guard by saying the kindest things to us without fear of our pain.   Outpouring of love and compassion came through email, cards and phone calls.  And then I was once again overwhelmed with kindness when I started this blog.  I was terrified that I would scare people away, but I have been embraced by so much loving kindness by so many that sometimes I don’t know what to do with it all.  And that’s a good thing.

You see, it’s hard to know what to do or say when someone is going through a difficult experience.  It’s hard to find the right words, especially if it is an experience that you yourself have never been through.  But if I’m being honest with you, it’s hard to find the right words even if it is very similar to an experience that you have been through.  So here’s my advice for you, when you don’t know what to say, do.  Because doing something is always better than doing nothing.  I will tell you, I remember your gestures far more frequently than I remember your words.  Flowers, cards, meals and the like are fabulous and their kindnesses are appreciated.    But even more, when I feel like the world no longer has any kindness left to offer, prove me wrong.  Offer up kindness by being there when I don’t even know that I need you.  When the awkward silence settles in, embrace it and the opportunity to sit with me in silence, hold my hand and hold my heart.  Listen to my heartache without feeling the need to offer up a solution to my problems or console me in some way that isn’t possible in this moment. Bring kindness of your own making, of your own choosing, of your own interpretation, but be sure that kindness is always your agenda, and that kindness backs up your motivation.  Be sure that kindness prevails above all.  Because at the end of the day, kindness really is all that matters.  And kindness is what we all really need.