For the past few weeks, I’ve been doing research for my book, scheduling and conducting interviews with parents, medical professionals and people who were once really sick kids. But yesterday, I took the hardest step of all. Because the publisher wants me address a parent’s response to the death of child, and I have no experience with that, I finally contacted parents who have lost young children.
Questions and doubts bombarded me as I dialed phone numbers and typed emails. Would I revive painful memories? Was I intruding too much? Would my request offend people? Would it destroy friendships?
I shouldn’t have worried so much. In every case, the parents said yes. Without hesitation. One woman, who lost a daughter nearly forty years ago said she and her husband would be delighted to share their story. “It was a long time ago,” she said. Then she paused. “But it’s also like yesterday. Do you know what I mean?”
I know what she means. So do all parents, whether they’ve lost a child or not. When we look at our children, we see them as they are now and as they once were. Time plays tricks on us and smooshes the memories together. My adult monk son is my little boy in big glasses and face make up. My college daughter is the drooling baby with big eyes.
It makes no sense, but that’s the way it is. And that’s why parents who have lost children, no matter now long ago, agree to be interviewed. Because they want to help other parents going through a similar situation. Because in a small way, the memories validate the life that was lost and the years never lived. Because for a few moments, they are with their child again. Because the joy of those memories is worth the pain.
When I meet with these parents, I’ll take my normal interview stuff. Tape recorder, questions, legal pad, pencils. And one more thing – tissues. I’m going to need them.
