When I Tell You

When I tell you my husband has died, please don’t …

… Tell me you’ve recently lost a pet.
Rob was a faithful companion, but he was no Golden Retriever.
This makes my loss feel trivial.

… Launch into a detailed discussion of your distant relative’s terminal illness.
I’ve endured more graphic content about dying than I can bea
r for now.
This makes my loss feel visceral.

… Tell me you can’t imagine how it feels.
Unless you’re a widow, I didn’t expect you would.
This makes my loss feel isolating.

… Warn me of how challenging it is going to be for my kids to grow up without a dad.
I didn’t worry about that. No, wait. I do. Every day.
This makes my loss feel insurmountable.

… Console me with “At least he didn’t suffer.”
Sudden loss is no less painful than a long goodbye in the midst of suffering.
This makes my loss feel insignificant.

Instead, simply say …
… I am so sorry for your loss.
… I loved Rob.
… I love you.
… I love your kids.
… I will not forget you.

And on days that feel especially dark …
… You’re going to make it.

This makes my loss feel bearable.
This makes me feel loved.

Published by Clarissa Moll

Discovering grace in grief

4 thoughts on “When I Tell You

  1. I don’t know you but I knew Rob in high school. I am so sorry for your loss. I have thought of you and your children very often over the last 6 months. I have made a note to say a prayer for you each time you come to mind. I just stumbled across your blog and have read every entry. Your writing is beautiful and so insightful. Even though we do not know one another my family is sending so much love and prayers your way.

  2. Thanks again for your writing Clarissa.
    After reading this post and the comment that Stefanie made, I realized how much we who read your writing have in common.
    Like Stefanie, I have never met you but was fortunate to call Rob a dear friend for the few short years I knew him.
    I am guessing some of us knew Rob, many know you and probably most know both of you and your kids.
    From hearing his stories of life with you and your kids, I feel like I do know you all, at least a little bit.
    I, too, am so very sorry for your loss, and I loved Rob. What a special guy. So special.

    One of the hard things about non-personal electronic communication is that we don’t know when the “especially dark” days will come, so I would try to encourage you that “You are going to make it” regularly.

    Know that I think of and pray for all of you regularly, and especially on the 19th. I will not forget you.


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