What Not to Say to a Grieving Mama

At work last week I had one of those cliche unbelievably bad conversations with someone about Aria (I don't think this was the same day as that patient's baby that was also named Aria, but it was definitely the same week).  I have seen tons of articles and blogs about what to say and not to say to grieving parents, which is why I never felt it was necessary to write one of my own.  However, this conversation was just SO bad that I thought I would share the craziness!

We had a rep come in who obviously remembered meeting me before (although to be honest, I didn't remember her at all) because she saw me and said, "Oh hey, you're back!  How's your baby?"  This isn't the first time I've talked to someone who wasn't up to speed on our situation, so I can handle these situations pretty smoothly by now.  I just said something like, "oh, that's sweet of you to remember, but she actually passed away when she was 2 months old."  The rep was pretty obviously horrified/embarrassed.  She asked if she could ask me questions or if I didn't want to talk about it (good on her to not assume either way) and I said I don't mind questions (bad on me, in this case, because of how the conversation went next...)

She asked about what happened, so I just kind of briefly explained.  She said something like "isn't it great that you know that she is safe in heaven where you'll see her again?"

Uh, yes.  However, that's one of those things that I am allowed to say, but you are not.

Then she asked, in kind of a hushed gossipy tone, "So do the doctors just recommend that you get pregnant again right away in these kind of situations?"

My, that's. . .personal.  "These" kind of situations?  You mean a situation in which my child dies?  For what purpose, to replace her??  

Instead, because I was caught off guard I just said something about how there's a chance that what she had was genetic so we're probably not having any more kids.  After that the conversation turned a bit, and somehow the topic of her kids came up.  She mentioned that she had had 4 kids within a 5 year span.  I said she was much braver than I was, and she said, "I know, I guess everyone has their problems right?" *gestures to me*

Wow. Just wow.

"Well maybe you can watch mine if you need some baby time, ha ha"

Kill me now.

I just reminded her that I have a toddler so I'm good, thanks.  After that I managed to wrap up the conversation pretty quickly, and spent most of the day in a state of disbelief.

I'm going to assume that she doesn't normally respond to mourning so awfully, and that it's just that she was caught off guard and blundered through what was supposed to be a sympathetic response.

For future reference, there's is only one correct response to someone in mourning. . .no matter the age or relationship of the deceased.  "I'm sorry for your loss.  What can I do to be helpful?"

Don't try to make it better or worse, don't compare their situation to someone else's. . .just mourn with them for a second.  Pretty simple, right?  I think that's where we all get tripped up (because believe me, I haven't always known what to say either) - we think we need to make some grandiose gesture, but really it's just the knowledge that they haven't been forgotten or brushed aside just because you don't know what to say.

Twilight Zone

I had a crazy Twilight Zone episode at work a few days ago.  I was supposed to be covering for our front desk girl but she ended up being able to work after all that day, so I was just in the back doing paperwork.  One of our patients had brought her infant girl with her, and needed an xray.  So our doctor asked us who could hold the baby while we did the xray for the patient, and I immediately volunteered my coworker (if I had been the only one there, of course I would have taken the baby. . .just preferred not to since I didn't have to).  My coworker took the baby and said something like, "Oh she's cute, what's her name?" and our patient said "Aria."  I of course whipped around and was like "you're kidding!!"

I'm going to believe it was a tender mercy from heaven that my coworker ended up being able to work, so that I wasn't the one unwittingly handed the tiny baby girl named Aria.  That would have been just a little too crazy for me!