How strange it is to know that she is at peace and all is well, and yet be so sorrowful!
Martin Luther (following the death of his daughter Lena)
Children aren't supposed to die. Old people, maybe, or the infirm. But children — they're supposed to run and play and giggle and live!
But we live in a world where accidents and leukemia and other forms of deadly violence wrench children from the arms of their loved ones and leave those arms empty and aching. Few crises so torment the emotions as the death of a child.
Cinda Warner Gorman, associate pastor at Fletcher Hills Presbyterian Church in El Cajon, California, tells of her experience:
The phone rang one evening. "This is Dr. Steele," the voice said. "I'm at the emergency room at Grossmont Hospital with the Meeker family. Jarrett hanged himself on a back yard swing this afternoon. They've pronounced him dead. We need you or Steve here."
Those brief, confusing words would mark the beginning of one of the most intense weeks of ministry I hope ever to experience. My husband, Steve, also a pastor, had already left for an evening meeting. That left me to find someone to watch our children before I dashed to the hospital.
The Meeker family recently had started attending our church, and Jarrett had participated in the boys' choir and Sunday school. But I was having difficulty putting names and faces together as I drove to the hospital. I came into their lives basically as a stranger. In the poorly ventilated hospital conference room that made us choose between suffocation and privacy, we began to share the difficult week and months ahead.
I listened in as the deputy coroner obtained the information for his report: Jarrett had come home from choir practice and was playing in the back yard while his sister napped. His mom, Judy, had asked him to stop throwing rocks, so he began to swing on a nylon rope suspended from a eucalyptus tree. The rope was knotted at the bottom for a foothold, but a section above the knot had unwoven, creating a loop.
Judy had gone into the house to answer the phone. When she had come back outside, she felt the silence. Looking around, she discovered Jarrett hanging from the loop in the rope.
She pulled him out and ran into the house to dial for help. Then she carried him into the front yard and continued her efforts to revive him there so the paramedics could find her quickly. But it was too late. Despite lengthy procedures at the trauma ward, nothing would revive Jarrett.
Down the hall from our "scream room," Jarrett's body lay in blanket-covered repose. In our stuffy confines, Jarrett's dad, Keith, sat stunned on a couch with Judy. Dr. Steele, the physician who had called me, was with us. He had been Jarrett's godfather.
Plain talk was my first, halting technique. The parents needed to talk about Jarrett. Our initial conversation focused on Jarrett's gregarious, friendly style with other children, his learning difficulties that were showing improvement, and his love for God's creation.
Eventually we journeyed to the trauma room, where Jarrett's body lay covered like that of a sleeping child. I encouraged his parents to stroke his face and hair. Like any mother, Judy commented on his dirty socks.
As the grandparents and aunt and uncle arrived, I found ministry to be hugging the sobbing father and providing tissues. Through her tears, Judy shared her concern over telling the younger daughter this tragic news. I discouraged the use of metaphors about "sleep" or "God needing Jarrett" because these are so easily misinterpreted. When I offered to be a part of the initial conversation with their daughter, Judy and Keith seemed relieved.
Talk turned to the idea of a memorial gift in Jarrett's name. We hit upon the idea of establishing a program for needy children to attend Zoo School at the San Diego Zoo. The family knew it was something Jarrett had enjoyed, and they wanted to open it up to other children. We designated the church Deacons' Fund as a collection point, and that simplified the details for a few weeks.
Our early discussion also included options for burial or cremation. It was important that this be their decision and one that was mutually agreed upon. They decided they'd involve their daughter in the process of finding a burial site as one way of including her in the coming days.
Pastoral ministry in this crisis also included returning with the family to the scene of the accident — their home. By now my husband had arrived at the hospital, and he took over this next stage. We exchanged a few words of information in the hall and prayed with the family again. Then I left, assuring the family I'd return in the morning to share the news with Jennifer.
Early in the morning the school principal responded to my phone message. We discussed the details of the accident so she could share it factually with the school counselor and teachers. I suggested the word hanging be avoided since the connotation would be that it had happened on purpose. Visiting the school later that morning, I was pleased with the sensitive presentations being made to each grade level. Teachers used the words accidentally strangled to describe what happened.
Most books about explaining death to children will tell you 5-year-olds have a limited concept of the finality of death. This was not the case with Jenny. Cradled in her mother's lap on the bedroom floor, she alternated between tears and perceptive observations. "Jarrett never got to grow old and be a grandpa" indicated to me that she knew Jarrett was not going to come back. "I wish I could just wake up and this would all be a bad dream" meant that this was reality for Jennifer.
We talked about the nature of accidents and about Jarrett's body still being at the hospital but that it would be buried in the coming days. (While it was not the case in this situation, some children take discussion of bodies to mean that the head is not included. Children are literal in their understanding.)
We assured Jenny that she could express a full range of feelings even though there would be many sad people around in the coming days. Jenny later told her mother that "Pastor Gorman said I could laugh and play or be quiet and show sadness and tears, and it was all okay."
While we chose Jenny's bedroom for this conversation for the sake of privacy, it was probably a mistake. Her subsequent dreams about things on the walls and dressers might have been because we shared such bad news in a place she called her own.
In planning the memorial service with Jenny's parents that morning, we scheduled it for a time that could include classmates and teachers. We decided to use taped music of the boys' choir. There would be a children's sermon, and friends would be invited to share good memories of Jarrett. Keith and Judy prepared a display of Jarrett's models and baseball cards.
About 350 people attended the memorial service, eighty of whom were children who crowded the chancel for the children's sermon. Using two stuffed caterpillar/butterflies, I created a story about their discussion of what it would be like to fly. One crawled into a cocoon (a paper bag large enough for the butterfly's wings to unzip) and came out a butterfly. But he couldn't come back and tell his friend what flying was like. It was beyond any description a caterpillar would understand. "Jarrett can't come back from heaven to tell us how wonderful it is to live there, either," I concluded, "but we know it is a happy, exciting experience for him."
Later Judy told me she had too little time "alone with Jarrett" at the funeral home. Now I would stress the importance of such time and suggest visitation by others be scheduled at another time. The least we can do is provide sufficient opportunity to be with a dead child.
Pastoral Concerns
Pastor Gorman's experience illustrates several pastoral concerns. First, most families who have just lost a child will be in shock. Their ability to make decisions and think straight, even to find their way into the next room, will likely be impaired.
Gorman took the initiative. She talked with the family, assessing their mental state and bringing comfort. She saw to it that they went into the room where their son lay, allowing them the opportunity to experience death's reality.
Second, she or her husband accompanied them as they performed many of the little tasks that seem so monumental when grief has shut down one's ability to cope. Steve went home with the family. Cinda helped them tell Jenny. Cinda went by the school.
You'll notice what she didn't do. She didn't answer all their questions or try to fix everything for the family, as if anyone could. Rather she slipped quietly and competently into the situation, offering her assistance and counsel as needed.
More than anything else, Gorman was a loving presence — someone entering into the family's grief from a caring and compassionate standpoint, someone personifying the Holy Spirit standing alongside (parakaleo) the grief stricken. Her memorial service message to the children offered hope and joy. Her suggestion for the memorial gift gave an opportunity to wrest some good out of a bitter experience.
Chaplain Wayne Willis of Louisville's Kosair Children's Hospital finds himself the paraclete with brutal regularity. Many times he takes his place on the emergency team. His role: to care for the relatives.
"When I'm called to the emergency room," he says, "my objectives are fairly limited. First, I try to discover as quickly as possible all I can about the dead child and the circumstances — How old is the victim? Who is at the hospital, and what is their relationship to the deceased? How much do they know? Were good-bys said? Is the body mutilated? Was the death instant or was there great pain? These and other bits of information help me deal with the family."
In the frantic activity of the emergency room, Willis explains, the staff expects the chaplain to "take care of the family." Doctors and nurses have their hands full starting IVs and opening airways. Those who arrive with the victim — sometimes up to a couple dozen — are shunted off to a waiting room. They don't know what's happening or what to expect.
When the patient is finally pronounced dead, staff members aren't eager to face the family. They often feel a little angry or defeated or guilty. That's where the clergyperson can step in.
"At this point, I can be helpful," Willis cautions, "but, of course, I'm not going to be able to make everything all right. My job is to do what it takes to 'get them through the night.' After all, what wise things can I say? Nothing. Their child is dead. That won't go away no matter what I say. So I try to give them the information they need, encourage a full catharsis, and help them wade through the many things that have to be done."
When the responsibility is his to inform the family of the death, he tries to make it simple and direct. According to Willis, "It's important to use the word dead or death when I tell the family. In a hospital, where medical professionals have difficulty accepting death, it's easy for the family to deny death's reality. So I tell them gently but directly, 'I'm sorry, but your child has died.'"
Then he walks the family through the various activities that accompany death: discussing the question of an autopsy, deciding on which funeral home to call, helping them make calls to others who need to be informed, securing the child's personal belongings, filling out paperwork. Willis finds it nearly always helpful to encourage the family to view the body at the hospital after the tubes are removed and blood and others signs of trauma have been cleaned up. Rituals such as these nudge the family toward good grieving by saying in effect, "This child is really and finally dead."
Clear, specific communication is needed: "Let me take you to the telephone." "I'd be happy to dial for you." "Tell me whom to contact to take you home." People are reassured that someone is in charge and knows what to do.
The specific pastoral role is a subtle one. Even the pastor's presence as one representing God can evoke both positive and negative responses. Chaplain Willis tells of one particularly memorable experience:
"A little boy struck by a car was rushed to our hospital. When I arrived I could tell the boy wasn't going to make it, although they were still trying their best to revive him. The family was in a waiting room by themselves. Nobody was talking. They just sat there, each in separate, shocked grief. Even the air in the room seemed to be waiting for the inevitable death notice.
"I relayed to them what factual information I knew and went out of the room every ten minutes or so to get an update. But as I talked with several of the people, the father never said a word. He was a mountain of a man, and he sat still as death itself, hardly blinking an eye.
"Finally a doctor entered the room and said the boy had died. At that, the father bolted upright to his full six-foot-plus height. He clenched his fists and began striding across the room straight for me. I braced, waiting for my lights to go out.
"He got about halfway across the room and stopped. He screamed at the top of his lungs, 'Where's your precious God?!' Then he collapsed to the floor and sobbed the deepest sobs I've ever heard.
"I was relieved to be safe, but for a moment I honestly felt guilty as charged for being a stand-in for God, for having no answers about why little children get run over by cars. That day, part of my ministry was to serve as a lightning rod to discharge the anger and bitterness that grieving father had to let out. I'm not supposed to take such emotion-charged statements personally. They're not meant for me. They're a natural reaction to the shock of bereavement, to what life has dealt. Most people move beyond them, as did that father that day."
But not all the God-identifications are negative. Often people find strength and assurance by the mere fact a pastor is with them. It tells them God is with them.
It is often the little kindnesses that parents remember. "People come up to me months, even years, after their child's death and tell me, 'You may not remember me, but one thing stands out vividly from the awful night when our daughter died: your kindness in calling my mother. I just couldn't do it myself,'" Chaplain Willis says. Bringing a cup of cold water, walking a father around the block when he "just has to get out of the hospital," picking up the purse the dazed mother forgot, offering a Kleenex — these simple, caring actions often mean more than a truckload of words. They broadcast: I care, and so does God.
The words a pastor speaks are also important, however. Therefore they must be chosen carefully, no easy task in an emotion-torn situation. "Some people understand 'God language,'" Willis advises, "and with them I have immediate authority." With such parents who share a common faith, pastors can speak of God's love and care, of God's faithfulness, of God's own loss of a child, of God's victory over death. These are great truths every Christian knows and spouts easily before the emotions hit. To make them a solid anchor in the storm of feelings at death is the difficult task of the pastor.
Pastors want to avoid the sense of pat answers and give the message: "It's okay to break down. It's okay to question. It's okay to be angry at death. God's bigger than all these struggles. God will still be there — loving us — when we quiet down and emerge on the other side of this tragedy."
In this age, however, it's not safe to think people understand God or God talk. "Working in a hospital," Chaplain Willis explains, "I've learned to assume a strong faith is missing for most people. They have little theological understanding through which to process this loss. When I feel that is the case, I look for clues to tell me when to talk of God and faith. The most innocuous opening I've found is to ask with a quizzical voice, 'Would there be any kind of religious tradition you come out of?' The quizzical tone tells them I don't assume anything, and the question allows them to tell of a faithful grandparent or parent, even if they themselves have no operating beliefs. How they answer gives me clues on how to proceed.
"For those with some kind of faith history, I may ask, 'How do you fit God into all this?' That allows the opportunity to rail against the 'unfairness,' express the comfort they receive from God, ask questions that have them knotted inside, or work through any number of other thoughts and feelings. At this point, I become more than a kind person; I can minister as a Christian pastor."
Willis, however, finds some people braced against him for the very reason he is a pastor. "People are suspicious," he sighs. "If they have a negative idea of 'preachers' or 'religious folk,' this is one time they're not going to disguise it. If they want to remain distant, or if they don't want to talk, I resort to the role of a caring hospital staff person. They can use the cup of cold water, too, and it will probably do more good than any number of forced words."
Helping Others through Grief
Siblings, grandparents, other relatives, friends, and classmates also feel the loss. While focusing on the parents, it's easy to forget the help these other people need.
Chaplain Willis expressed an interesting insight: "Grandparents grieve doubly." Grandparents become deeply attached to their grandchildren. In them they see the future of their line. They don't expect to bury their children, much less their grandchildren. The incongruity of it all adds to the suffering.
On top of that, grandparents hate to see their children, the parents, suffer. The pain of the parents hurts those who are their parents.
Pastors cannot take that load away, but even recognizing it can help the grandparents, who may not understand all they're feeling. Including them in the events and care following the death helps them with their grief. If they minister to their children, that can be therapeutic for both generations.
Pastor Gorman had both a sibling and a group of school and church friends to inform about the boy's accidental death. Working with the parents, she had many questions to answer: What would be the best setting for telling the sister? How should we phrase it to cause the least harm? Should she see the body? When? Should she go to the funeral? How should classmates and church friends be notified? What kind of service or remembrance will be best for them? How will we deal with their questions or fears?
Gorman chose to talk with the sister after a good night's sleep and in daylight, in the comforting surroundings of her room with her family there. They wanted her to feel the security of family and familiar places at the time she was to be shocked with the news of loss.
In hindsight, the family probably would have chosen a setting other than the girl's bedroom. They feel it has become associated to some extent with the bad news. They do feel good, however, about the way they told her and the sense of security that surrounded her at a time when insecurity would be sprung on her.
School counselors prepared Jarrett's classmates to understand his death. Since the counselors weren't outsiders, they could more effectively work with the children. Gorman's presence at school did prove comforting to those who knew her from her church.
Sudden vs. Prolonged Death
For many years Chaplain Willis coordinated a self-help group for grieving parents. In those sessions, he often heard parents who lost a child suddenly reach out to those whose child's death was lingering. "How could you ever stand watching your child's life slip away little by little?" they ask. "We can't imagine how painful that would be. We'd never be able to stand the sorrow!"
The other parents reply, "But we can't fathom how terrible it would be never to have the chance to say good-by, never to 'finish your business' with your child. At least we got to do some special things like go to the Rose Parade or buy our child a stuffed toy. We can't imagine losing our child in an instant; the pain must be awful."
The reality of loss is the same in both instances, but the dynamics accompanying it differ. Parents whose children died lingering deaths from leukemia or congenital heart problems have a wide and growing range of resources to help them: Ronald McDonald Houses, pediatric hospice programs, and such charities as Dream Factory that provide dying children one last wish, such as a trip to Disney World. But parents have to come to grips with their inability to alter the course of the disease. They have to support that child emotionally, take care of their regular workday duties, bear the burden of staggering hospital costs, and watch their worst nightmare in slow motion.
Parents shocked by the sudden death of a child suffer different concerns. Often a sense of real or false guilt accompanies the death: What if I hadn't let him have the car? What if I'd seen her on the patio before she fell in the pool? What if I'd insisted on her staying in her car seat?
The week before I talked with Chaplain Willis, he'd seen three sets of bereaved parents. One child died by crib death. The unspoken feeling of that child's parents was, What kind of rotten parent am I for sleeping while my son was dying? Illogical, unreasonable, but so very real.
Another toddler drowned. While dad was in the shower and mom was distracted by TV, he shot out of the house unnoticed. Within five minutes the family was searching for him. Thirty minutes later he was found in a pool six houses away. He couldn't be resuscitated. What do the parents feel? Guilt. How could we be so negligent? Yet it could happen to any parent.
A third child was hit by a car. He was playing with friends in the street. When someone yelled "Car!" he jumped into its path rather than to safety. His parents' haunting question: Should we have let him play without supervision? He was old enough. He just made one very bad mistake.
"My job is to help parents sort rational from irrational guilt," says Willis. "Sometimes they are guilty. In that case I gently have to confirm their guilt and help them work through its consequences. I don't try to take away that guilt. Instead I want to draw it out of them, hear it, help them acknowledge and accept it as scar tissue, and then move them toward forgiving themselves, just as they have to do with any other shortcoming in life." This is where pastors have much to offer the bereaved parents. Forgiveness is Christianity's forte.
Irrational guilt is tough to tackle. It has no cause in reality and no visible solution. Willis suggests direct and repeated statements: "No, it was not your fault that Richie walked to school that day; tens of thousands of excellent parents let their children walk to school. You are not to blame for the freak accident that took his life." And then reinforce it repeatedly, possibly for years. It can be frustrating for the pastor who can't seem to convince the parent. Willis says philosophically, "Some parents seem to need to flagellate themselves as a way of coping."
The lack of closure is the other particular concern of parents facing a sudden loss. They have no chance to say those things that so often go unsaid in the flurry of life: "I love you. I'm proud of you. You bring me joy. I forgive you." A quarrel that wasn't resolved or a resentment never cleared can clog the passages of restoration for a parent.
Reality therapy — repeatedly stating the rational until the parents, irrational in grief, heal enough to understand — is probably the best course. The parents need to concede that some affairs in life never get settled. They will not have the chance to say what they might have said or demonstrate what they didn't do, but a lifetime of parental care doesn't boil down to one piece of unfinished business. The pattern of loving care, set long before, better demonstrates the essence of their parenthood.
Miscarriage and Stillbirth
"Please, don't call it a miscarriage. My baby is dead!" These poignant sentences from a mother who had lost a child before birth sum up the feelings of parents deprived of expected children: they don't want their loss downplayed.
The tendency of those around is to console with words to the effect, "Well, at least it's not as bad as it would have been once you had a chance to hold your child." Not necessarily true. Bonding occurs early. That child in utero is a real child. Hopes and dreams and characteristics become attached to it long before it's born. When that child fails to make a grand entrance, the empty and darkened stage takes a lot of getting used to.
Pastors are wise to treat a miscarriage or stillbirth as they would any other death. The parents and loved ones need to feel free to grieve. For those who have had a difficult time conceiving, this is an especially bitter time, signifying not only the loss of a child but possibly a sense of fundamental failure ever to be parents.
Chaplain Willis advises visiting the parents as soon as possible after the death and evaluating their reaction to the loss, affirming them, and helping them express their grief. Here are some of his guidelines:
"(1) Attend to the father as well as the mother. Sometimes the father's sense of loss is as great if not greater than the mother's. (2) Draw out the story of events and feelings leading to the loss, giving attention to matters likely to bear on the grief process, for example, marriage relationship or lack of it, planned or unplanned conception, normal or problem pregnancy, delivery (Death known before delivery? Normal delivery? Malformation?), and fantasies and fears attending the pregnancy and delivery. (3) Work through the postmortem process: seeing or holding the baby, bathing and dressing it, deciding on an autopsy, making burial or funeral plans, naming, taking pictures, retaining keepsakes such as a footprint or a lock of hair. (4) Discern the parents' interpretation of the cause of death, including their understanding of the medical explanation, their theological or philosophical understanding of it, their sense of personal responsibility, and their blame of themselves or others. (5) Ascertain the quality of their support system: marriage, family, friends, support group, church, therapist, and work colleagues. (6) Give any guidance as indicated, such as how to break the news to other children, how to handle inane comments, how to cope with others' awkward avoidance, and how to handle the anticipated stress on their marriage relationship."
The banal comments they might have to field include: "Don't worry; you can always have another" (Every child is unique; you cannot "replace" anyone); "God wanted another little angel" (That makes light of a tragedy and tends to paint God as a tyrant who toys with our lives); or "I know exactly how you feel" (Nobody can say that honestly).
The pastor's most important care responsibilities: to accept and understand the depth of emotions in the parents and allow them to express them fully, and to encourage antidenial activities such as holding the child, taking pictures, or naming the baby. While these may accentuate sorrow at the time, they allow the deep wounds to begin to heal.
Your Own Feelings
Cinda Gorman writes, "I've dealt with death frequently, but nothing really prepares one for the sudden death of a child — in this case a child so close to my own children's age. I discovered that among the many needs to be met at such a time were my own."
Perhaps in no other situation do a pastor's feelings so come into play. Many pastors freely admit the toughest call they make or funeral they preach is for the death of a child. They find it so easy to identify with the bereaved parents. When "This could have been my kid!" dominates the pastor's mind, transference is at work.
Many pastors fear breaking down in front of the family; many have. Chaplain Willis, even after hundreds of episodes, acknowledges his tendency to become emotionally involved, even to break into tears when he's with the parents. "For me," he says, "I know I'm vulnerable when I feel the parents are much like me or when the child reminds me strongly of my own. When I recognize these factors at work, I say to myself, Uh-oh. This one's getting to me. Recognizing what's going on helps me be authentic. I may break down with the family, but that's not necessarily bad. I don't need to apologize for feeling what any caring person would feel. It's only when it catches me by surprise that it becomes a problem. If I know it may come, I can cry out of empathy without falling apart and becoming a problem." An authentic tear may do more good than any number of words.
Long-term Caring
Once the family is through the immediate crisis of a child's death, a long road lies ahead. As Elisabeth Kübler-Ross and others have observed, grief is a process. One of the best contributions of a pastor is to give permission for that grief to run its course. Although that contribution starts immediately as the pastor allows the grieving parent to express anger or guilt or sadness without censure, it continues long after most people expect the grieving parent to "get a grip on himself and get on with life." Good grief will not be rushed.
After years of supervising the self-help group for bereaved parents, Wayne Willis observed several standard topics they most often brought up with one another. These are fruitful topics for pastors to consider during subsequent care.
The last things. Parents seem to need to relive the time of their child's death, and pastors do well to hear them out, even when the story becomes redundant. Parents tend to judge themselves by whether they were there at the child's last moment. They want to know they gave the last ounce of assurance and warmth to their child. Equally important is access to the child after death, even to the point of fighting through hospital staff to get there. In like manner, the people who were present at those last hours are especially important to parents. Willis tells of one woman so touched that her child's physicians came to the funeral home that she had their initials engraved on the child's tombstone.
Anniversaries. The three most important occasions following a death are the child's birthday, Christmas, and the death anniversary. The first of each of these occasions is often the most difficult. A visit, a card, or special care during these times is most appreciated, even several years later.
"The pits." Depression may well accompany grief. Often the first dark bout comes about a month after the death when parents begin to panic because they feel no better: I was supposed to be over it! Some of what pastors have to say to these people may sound like bad news: The pits are unavoidable and they'll probably get worse before they get better. But there is good news: Things will get better; bouts will eventually become less severe and less frequent. A pastoral call at the one-month mark often uncovers and begins to deal with this particular problem of grief. Should depression get severe, medical attention is necessary.
Restructuring life. Among the messages bereaved parents give each other is this: There are no rights and wrongs about the way you grieve. Everyone has to do it his or her own way. Nearly every parent will adapt to a loss in an individual way.
This is often seen in how the child's room and possessions are handled. Some parents want it cleared out the day of death, unable to bear the thought of being reminded by objects associated with the child. Some seal off the room or leave it exactly as it was — almost a shrine to the child. Others sell the house and move within weeks. Pastors can help parents think through such decisions, but the decisions themselves are best left to the parents, free of censure. At the same time, gentle nudges to do such things as visit the grave or go through the child's things may help parents break a taboo and progress in their grief. The idea is to offer encouragement to parents whose grieving renders them dysfunctional, but at the same time to propose no simplistic timetables or rigid formulae for rebuilding life.
Support systems. Avoidance by friends and acquaintances is a common experience of parents whose children have died. Out of awkwardness or fear of what to say, some people shun the bereaved. Yet this is just when families need the most support. From Willis's experience, the greatest hurt of all is to avoid any reference to the deceased child. One mother told him, "I guess they're afraid I'll break into tears if they mention him. But I want to talk about him. Others may go their merry way and in a month forget he ever existed, but I want to keep his memory alive." Mentioning him doesn't cause pain; the pain is there already.
Pastors can perform two services: First, they can spread the word (and model themselves) that the parents need someone to talk to about their dead child. By making it a topic of conversation, they help the grieving parents. Second, they can include the parents in the caring program of the church through deacons' visits, pastoral prayers, small groups, and pastoral calling. Grieving church members will need to walk the valley, but it need not be a lonesome valley. The care of a loving church, exercised over months, can move them beyond the chasms of crisis.
Quickscan DEATH OF A CHILD (including miscarriage and stillbirth)
Immediate concerns:
1.Get to the parents or arrange for someone to join them.
2.Arrange custodial care for children of the family.
3.Clear your schedule for a number of hours.
Keep in mind:
1.Expect intense grief. Parents may be nearly unable to function, to make decisions, to put one foot in front of the other.
2.Anger may accompany grief. A common response is to be angry at the "injustice" of a child's death. That anger may be displaced at God or God's vicar — you. It is not necessarily a bad sign. Bear it as much as possible.
3.Miscarriages or stillbirths are often experienced as any other death of a child. They are not lesser deaths.
4.The survivors need a loving presence more than answers. Your greatest gift may be a warm touch, a sympathetic tear, an errand run, or your silent company. Family members want factual answers to questions of the child's care or death circumstances, but their deeper, rhetorical questions are for the sake of emotion, not answers.
5.You will not be able to explain away the death or "fix" the situation. Be resigned to walking beside the family rather than trying to raise them above the situation.
6.You will likely be the only clear-thinking party when you are with the grieving. You may have to speak simply, repeat yourself, suggest logical decisions or steps to take, or perform menial tasks for the family.
Things to do or say:
1.Attain factual information from authorities, hospital personnel, and others to keep the family well informed.
2.Find a private place for the family to grieve.
3.Attend to the physical health of family members. Hyperventilating, fainting, and other physical symptoms often accompany intense grief. Sedation is normally unnecessary and counterproductive.
4.Allow the family to express grief, even expressions that may seem odd or bizarre to you, as long as they are not hurting themselves or anyone or anything else. This speeds healthy mourning.
5.Work the family through the necessary steps after death: disposition of body, identification, retrieval of personal belongings, signing of papers, notification of people.
6.Be Christ in their presence. Care, love, accept, and forgive as he would.
7.Return to the family some sense of structure and control, both of which they have lost in the death. Be steady and in command of the situation, but let them make what decisions they can.
Things not to do or say:
1.Do not attempt cheeriness in the face of deep loss. Victory is in Christ, but that message is best heard at a later time.
2.Do not expect family members to act responsibly or rationally.
3.Do not assume that life will return to normal for the family within a few weeks. It will take a long time.
4.Do not attempt to cheer parents after a miscarriage or stillbirth with words that downplay the significance of the death, such as, "You can always have another."
For further study:
Bayly, Joseph. The Last Thing We Talk About. Elgin, Ill.: David C. Cook Publishing Co., 1973.
Heavilin, Marilyn Willett. December's Song. San Bernardino, Cal.: Here's Life Publishers, 1988.
Kübler-Ross, Elisabeth. On Death and Dying. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., 1969.
Copyright © 1989 by Christianity Today
