Martha Whitmore Hickman

Of all the griefs a human being is potentially subject to, surely one of the heaviest is the death of a child. It should not happen. It is the wrong order of things. Children should bury their parents; parents should not bury their children. A few generations ago, it was not an unusual event: one of the reasons parents had such large families was they knew it was unlikely that all their children would live to maturity.

But it is not so with us--in this modern age, with all the advancements in medicine and technology, our innoculations and other knowledge of preventive medicine, it is not expected that a child born healthy, with loving and caring parents, should die. Oh, we know there are accidents, and diseases for which we do not yet have a cure. But such terrors come into the lives of other people, not to us.

And then it happens, and our lives are thrown into a turmoil from which we think we will never recover. And we won't--if "recover" means to forget the child, stop wondering what the child would be like now. Would she have married, would she (or he) have continued with her interest in graphic art, finished college, gone on to a career. Would she have children who would run to meet us when we came to visit, jump into our arms?

I could go on and on, because I have been there, and almost 30 years later, the words of a song, the knowledge that my sister is going to spend Christmas with her daughter's family, or the sight of two grown women, a generation apart but with the same blue eyes, angle of the chin, laughing together at the local tea shop, can reignite the ever-smouldering embers of sadness and loss.

So why read a book if it's going to remind you of all that sadness? Because it will always be there, though as time goes by, the sadness is more mellow and more permeated with the good memories, the gratitude this child brought to your life, and the continuing presence that in some way stays with you, constant and enriching.

To help you make that journey from all-but-overcoming-grief to a person still aware of that poignant loss, but relishing the memories, relishing a full life, grateful for both, is what this book is about. It starts with the need to fully acknowledge what has happened, that while faith is a tremendous help,it doesn't take the pain away. It will help you begin to let go--of the pain of the event, of the thwarted expectations for the future, and turn instead to the life you have, to the people who need you--now, more than ever, to welcome new adventures into your life--perhaps new children to love.

The Book of Ecclesiastes reminds us that "For everything there is a season...
a time to weep, and a time to laughh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance..."

You will have no trouble in finding "time to mourn"; it is equally important, as you grow stronger, that you also find "a time to dance."

Sometimes when we have suffered an almost unbearable grief, as in the death of a child, our tendency is to withdraw from life and love so we can't be hurt again. How much better to open our hearts, letting in the light along with the darkness, confident that in ways beyond our knowing, our lost child will continue to bless us.

May your "time to dance" come
sooner than you think.

The book concludes with two lists: one, a list of books I have found helpful; and the other a list of organizations, nationwide, to help grieving parents.