I went to pick up some bagel breakfast sandwiches the other morning. No one else in line, placed my order, went to scan the bottles of juice and grabbed a few. I looked up to find the lady working there, behind the counter, gazing at me. And I usually greet others with a, “How is it going today?”
And she said that this week was going much better than last week and paused. It was such a sincere response with her gazing into my eyes, and I watched her eyes move to her apron, her hands brushing invisible crumbs, as she said that last week she had a baby. And she looked in my eyes and then to the register and shared that her baby had died. I watched her move to the register and followed her lead.
My breakfasts sandwiches were delivered to her hands and I set my juice on the counter, and she shared the details of a miscarriage that had her hospitalized, the intimate details of her heart were exposed when she shared that the baby was given to the hospital, it was the only choice she had.
She didn’t have to tell me that she didn’t have money for a proper burial or that she was concerned with her medical expenses. She didn’t need to express her feelings of deep despair in this two minute window of time. I felt it all and I cared. We connected on a heart level without many words.
Moments like these, when strangers pour their heart out have happened more and more the older I get. Sometimes I get the feeling that I experienced things in life just so that I could respond intelligently in moments like these.
To lighten her sadness and grief in facing this reality in her life I only said this: “Some things are not in our hands, it’s futile to think that they are.” And I truly hope I chose the right words.
July 4, 2009 at 11:33 am
i lost a baby in a protracted miscarriage that lasted for weeks, involving surgery and then three weeks later a d&c. i felt no one could understand how my heart was breaking. everyone said stupid s***, like it was early, it wasn’t really a baby yet. to me it was. she had a name. she had an expected birth date. she was growing in my body and something went wrong.
out of this tragedy would come my son, who would not have been conceived but for the loss of that other baby.
but i did not know that then — all i felt was the loss of my baby. bless you for being still with her, and for saying something to acknowledge her grief and loss and powerlessness.
you have a huge heart, dawn.
July 4, 2009 at 1:04 pm
Oh God, how awful. Don’t you just want to take people home with you sometimes? I know we can’t. You said the best thing to her and just listening was priceless. She needed you at that moment and you were there. Heartbreaking, but lovely, story.
July 4, 2009 at 4:56 pm
It’s a magnificent grief Lynette, one that only mother’s can know. I can’t imagine being haunted with the added grief as she was. That’s a good word ‘powerlessness.’
Thanks for the thumbs-up on my words, Cyndi — saying “I’m sorry” just wouldn’t have fit.
July 7, 2009 at 4:03 am
It seems to me that you had the absolute right words to offer this woman at a time when she needed them the most.