I’m sorry I was sorry you are sorry…

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” –Maya Angelou

This journey has been both short yet long. It has been made immeasurably more bearable by the support of loving family and friends. We have been both buoyed by communication, and similarly disappointed by the lack thereof. The importance of loving couldn't have been made more apparent. 

When it comes to communication in times of anguish, generally people fall in to two camps. Those who can, and those who can’t. Those who can, make a quick phone call, or send a brief text message, or send an email, or simply “like” a post on facebook. Those who can’t, think about doing these things, but are either uncomfortable, don’t know what to say, or don’t want to feel the emotions that getting in contact would stir up inside them.

Up until now, I would say I have been in both camps. With close friends I have lent a shoulder, an ear, a chocolate cake, etc. With more distant friends I have, at times, ignored the public Facebook posts. It’s not that I didn’t read them, or didn’t pay attention, it’s that I didn’t know what to say, or even if it was my place to say anything at all.  Instead of a short “I’m thinking of you” message, I assumed that people closer than me would assume that role. And while they may have done just that, I now know I should have reached out.

Yes, we have been overwhelmed with love, but we have also learned the way that a brief note from an old acquaintance can make you feel. We have experienced the sadness associated with not receiving a message of encouragement from an extended family member or two. To be loved by those close to you is, rightly or wrongly, expected; to have your pain acknowledged by someone you weren’t sure even remembered you is amazing.

At the beginning of our discoveries about Emma, I shared details with only the people closest to our family. People would say “I’m so sorry”, and internally I would become indignant. “Don’t pity me!” I would think to myself. I would smile, nod, say “thank you”, and bottle up that emotion. I even spoke to some friends before I told them, and tried to dictate their responses. “I’m going to tell you something but you can’t cry, and you can’t say you’re sorry…”

As time has gone on, and as a family we’ve begun the process of accepting our unique challenges, we have also learned to let people tell us that they are sorry. That people feeling “sorry” for us doesn’t mean that they are pitying us. That it’s a very human emotion to be sorry that someone has to experience any kind of health issues. That’s it’s okay to allow ourselves to experience other people’s emotions.  And that we really appreciate the fact you are thinking of us.

When I thought about this blog entry, there was a real need for me to accept my own shortcomings, and I have started to send messages to those people I should have reached out to when they were sharing their times of trial. People who have had the generosity of spirit to reach out to my family, because they know. They understand that need to have their journey validated. It’s incredibly humbling.

So, I urge you, next time you hear of a friend, no matter how distant, going through some kind of tribulation: reach out. Whether it be as simple as clicking “like” to a Facebook status, or as involved as stopping by with dinner… show you care. I can recommend “I am thinking of you” as a great opening line!

For me, now, the fact you are here and reading this blog is enough. The fact that we have nearly hit 5000 blog visits is amazing. I hope  Emma’s story continues to inspire you with hope, and that our learning experiences can help others in even a small way.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Sharing our journey with us makes you family. We love you.

Katy x