I Wish You Knew: Just Ask Me

Often in our grief, those closest to us do not know how to comfort and encourage us. Sometimes they stay away or don’t say anything at all because they are afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. In this series, we hope to better equip those around us to come alongside a grieving mother—to enter their hurt and offer hope and encouragement, or simply grieve with them.

My husband, Spencer, and I are very involved, active people, with no shortage of energy and opinions. In addition to working full time jobs, we lead our LifeGroup, serve in various capacities at church, and have a very active social calendar. We are the people you can ask for help, knowing the answer you’ll get is usually yes. We get a lot of joy from investing in people and ministries we love.

But after Max died, as we were reeling from the shock and devastation of this great loss, we necessarily backed off from most things. We hunkered down with each other and our closest friends and families as we began to process and grieve. Our community and our church family graciously gave us the space we needed to do so.

We’re also pretty resilient, and our people know that about us. So it wasn’t long before people started wondering if we were ready to jump back into serving and our regular activities. Employers started asking our coworkers if we were ready to come back to work. Leaders at church were asking our friends if we were ready to serve again. And sometimes, people just made assumptions about what we were or weren’t ready for.

It all came from a well-meaning, compassionate place of not wanting to overwhelm us and wanting to give us space. But what was intended to be kind and gentle felt frustrating. We could feel the whispers all around us. Having others make these decisions for us felt isolating and confusing.

The clearest example of this unintentional isolation involved planning a baby shower. Our LifeGroup throws each couple a fun couple’s baby shower to celebrate their first child. I had just received the beautiful invitation to Max’s lumberjack themed shower a few days before his birth and glory day. Seeing it on the fridge was both tender and heartbreaking.

But about two months later, it was time for LifeGroup to plan a shower for baby Kate. When I realized we were closing in on the date, I casually mentioned that we needed to start planning it, only to find out that everyone else had already been working on the details. They hadn’t included me because they thought it’d be too hard for me.

Suddenly, I wasn’t just a grieving mama missing her son; I was a grieving mama who had been left out by her closest friends—even though they had intended it as an act of protection for me. Of course it was going to be hard and painful to plan this shower. But it was something I wanted to do. I wanted to help celebrate this sweet baby girl because I knew all too well how precious and dearly loved sweet Kate really was. I knew I might cry while I was designing the invitation, but that was ok. I gently explained to my friends how being left out of that process had hurt, and how I wished they had just asked me if I thought I was up for it instead of deciding for me that I wasn’t.

If there is one thing I wish I could go back and tell everyone in those early days, it would be, “Just ask me.”

Instead of whispering your questions and concerns to those closest to me or making assumptions about me, just ask.

“When do you think Sam will want to come back to work full time?”
“Can Sam handle being around all of these babies?”
“Will planning this baby shower make her too sad?”
“Does hearing about my baby’s milestones hurt her heart?”

The only person able to answer those questions was me.

Occasionally, I might not know what I need, want, or am capable of. If that’s the case, I’ll tell you so. But usually I will know. Please don’t tread so lightly around me that you cut me out of these decisions that involve me.

Yes, I might cry through the whole baby shower, but I want to go. I might need to go sit in my car for 30 minutes on my first day back at work, but that doesn’t mean I’m not ready. Of course, seeing your beautiful baby might bring back a flood of feelings and emotions, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hold her and hear about the incredible things she’s learning.

You can love me best, by asking me what I’m up for and believing that I will answer you honestly. Instead of whispering about me, or making decisions for me, ask me. And I promise I’ll do the same for you. 

Sam is a graphic designer and marketing professional in Frisco, Texas. She and her husband, Spencer, have been married since 2011, and have two children in heaven, Max & Baby Martin, and one in their arms, Lachlan. They enjoy serving in their church, building community, and restoring their 100 year-old home. Sam is in two book clubs and can always be found with a book in her purse and a warm beverage in her hand.

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