It takes a village

We’ve all heard the phrase “it takes a village to raise a child”. Well, it took becoming a mother before I realized just how true that statement is. Whether it’s carpooling to school events, lifting each other up with funny meme’s, or stepping in as the reliever when you witness your friend on their last nerve with their melting down toddler – it sooo takes a village. What I’m understanding now is how grieving a child takes a village as well.

Like many teenagers I babysat for spending money. Growing up in suburban Omaha, Nebraska there were plenty of families within walking distance to whom I solicited my services, but there was one family in particular that sticks out in my mind. And not because they paid well, or their children were angels or nightmares, or because they had a Jurassic Park pinball machine in their basement (which they actually did and was a terrible distraction). No, it was because of a framed 5x8 photo of a beautiful teenage girl with blonde hair and bright eyes, just a few years older than me, that sat on their kitchen counter.

I asked the kids I was babysitting one night who the girl was and they explained that she was the daughter of family friends and that she had died of a seizure in her sleep. I remember being struck by the obvious tragedy of the situation but even more so by the compassion and love on display by the friends of this family. Every time I babysat for them I saw that photo, and while I never knew her, I often thought of her and her family.

Eventually, I stopped babysitting and didn’t keep in touch with this particular family. I also never really knew their family friends and so they drifted from my memory. That is, until my daughter was diagnosed with epilepsy and seizures became a central topic in our home. As a 14 year old babysitter I knew very little about epilepsy – heck at 34 when Adelaide was diagnosed, I’m not sure I knew that much more. But the memory of that 5x8 framed photo on the counter rushed back to me. I quickly pushed the memory down, not wanting to acknowledge that something like that could happen to the beautiful seven-month-old child in my arms.

Again, time pushed forward and I got caught up in the life I used to document here: managing Adelaide’s treatment and care, arranging the logistics of her appointments and therapies, fighting with insurance companies, advocating wherever I could and somehow also being a mom, wife, daughter, sister and friend. That is until Adelaide entered hospice and I was standing in my friend’s kitchen staring at a picture of our family on her fridge.

“I need you to always have a picture of Adelaide in your home.” I said.

“Ok.” She replied.

“I need her to be remembered outside of our home. I need people to walk into your home and see her picture and remember her too.”

I told her about the family I had babysat for and how I’d never forgotten their friend’s daughter. It was such a simple act but the emotional power and its impact on me was immeasurable.

“I promise we will always have a picture of Adelaide in our home.”

And she does: on her fridge, bookcase and mantle Adelaide greeted me this weekend when we stayed in their home during our recent trip to Chicago. I’m not sure I can accurately explain what it means to me to see my daughter remembered like that. It’s like coming home, it’s like viewing your own heart on display, it’s like sharing a cozy blanket near a fire.

There are few, if any, words that can be said to truly help someone heal while they are grieving. But something you can do? Show your grieving friend or family member that you remember their loved one and always will. Send them a picture of their lost person that you had saved on your phone and then also put it on display in your own home. Show them how you will never forget and in doing so you will be their village – the one they need in llfe, but also in death.

Because alive or not, it really does take a village. Thank you for being mine.

Wishing all a gentle Mother’s Day.

Image description. A framed black and white photo of Kelly, Adelaide, Miguel and Jackson on a fireplace mantle.