As a society, we don’t like to be uncomfortable, so we avoid things that make us feel that way.
We scroll past the post about the stillborn baby on Facebook or past the article about the first grader who was gunned down in school.
We ignore the post about the 50-year-old woman who passed away from cancer and the articles about abused dogs.
These stories make us sad, so we choose to pretend they don’t exist and move on with our day.
I get it. I’m guilty of it myself… until I became one of those posts.
Until I experienced the loss of my firstborn child.
Until I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, who was silent.
Until my world flipped upside down, I avoided stories that made me uncomfortable too.
Recently, I had a conversation with a friend. She shared one of these “heartbreaking, scroll past” stories with me.
I told her I couldn’t read them because they make me so sad.
Her response stopped me dead in my tracks.
She told me she felt the same way, but after watching me lose Asher, she reads stories that make her uncomfortable.
She wants to honor someone’s story. She does that by reading them, because they deserve to be heard, regardless of how they make her feel.
It was hard for my friend to watch me experience the pain of losing my firstborn.
Over the last two years, she has continued to watch me struggle with living life after the loss of Asher.
While it’s difficult for her to see me in pain and grieving, she is there for me. She listens about my pain because she knows it is important.
Asher did that. Asher’s existence made her change her viewpoint.
She now reads/listens to stories of others, regardless of how it makes her feel because she knows the experience of others is essential.
No one likes to be reminded that babies die before they even get a chance to live.
No one wants to see that innocent children are gunned down in school.
No one enjoys reading about cancer taking yet another life.
No one appreciates seeing a helpless animal tortured by humans. I get it.
Even after becoming one of those posts, I still avoided posts on topics (other than child loss) that made me upset.
After speaking to my friend, I no longer do that. I no longer scroll past.
I stop and read. All I want is for people to remember Asher.
One way I can be sure he is never forgotten is by posting about him on my social media.
I know it’s hard for others to be reminded that my son died, that babies die, but imagine how hard it is for me to be living with that fact EVERY SINGLE DAY?
I urge you to no longer scroll past the posts that you find painful to read. Read the long post about a parent’s grief over losing their child.
Remember their child as you do it. Read the post from a child expressing their pain over the loss of a parent.
Read the post of the woman speaking out about her sexual abuse.
Read them all.
They are someone’s story, someone’s life.
Take the time to honor it.
Amy Lied is a wife and a mother to her son, Asher, who was inexplicably born still on February 19th, 2017 and twin daughters. Before losing Asher, she suffered a miscarriage and struggled with unexplained infertility. She has documented her journey from the beginning of her infertility struggles on her blog, Doggie Bags Not Diaper Bags. She is also a co-founder of The Lucky Anchor Project , an online resource for loss families that houses an Etsy store whose profits are donated to loss family non-profit organizations. She hopes to help others by sharing her journey as she continues to navigate the bumpy road that is life after loss.