A surprise blessing

There are three needs of the griever: to find the words for the loss, to say the words aloud and to know that those words have been heard. 

- Victoria Alexander

A few weeks ago I emailed my old school, Dominic College, to update my address since we moved house last year. I've always enjoyed receiving the old scholar's news from school and university. The old scholar contact person must have googled my name (scary thought) and found my business website, and afterwards he asked me to write a few lines about my time at Dominic and my life since then for the next edition of Veritas, the old scholar newsletter.

The newsletter just came out, and the little story of my school days is in there (page 16). As the newsletter also records births, deaths, engagements and marriages, I told the story of my little Max, too. It's important to me that he be acknowledged as my son, no less valuable than any other person's son for his life being far shorter than it should have been.

When I checked my email this morning I had received a message from the now principal of my old school that really touched me. I don't know this woman, as she was not at the school when I was there, and I couldn't believe she had taken the time, late on a Sunday night, to send me this message of thanks and support.

The email reads:

Dear Janelle, I read with warmth and tears your piece in our Veritas. Thank you for courageously sharing with us your life as it has been unfolding and the tragic loss of Maxwell. I cannot even begin to fathom this. May you continue to have courage and strength and know that your words of inspiration are resounding with our current students and our staff. It all makes a difference Janelle. You are in my prayers. And can I dare to say I am really proud of you! Prayers and blessings, Beth, Principal.

Since the fallout with my friend over my MamaMia article a month or two ago I have felt very judged for sharing Max's story and my journey after his death to the point that I have pretty much withdrawn from most forms of communication with anyone but those closest to me as a way of protecting myself from people having ill-informed opinions of whether or not I'm dealing with the death of my son in the 'right' way.

For example, I've deleted my Facebook account and made my blog private as a result of the few aggressive sentiments that were directed at me. I am not yet resilient enough to deal with those who take offence to my open heart, my rawness. Because I was so devastated by my friend's reaction to that piece of writing, I was not able to take in and appreciate the sheer outpouring of positive support that also came my way at the time, which was actually by far the greater sentiment expressed by so many people - by complete strangers and by those who really know me. 

This email from the school principal reminded me that I am doing a valuable thing in sharing my son and my grief, and that I must not let those who want to judge or wilfully misunderstand my experience make me afraid to do this. The simple act of sharing yourself, and your story, is a powerful thing. So much of what I have done so far shows me this clearly, and I've only just begun.

Shakespeare writes in Macbeth,

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. 

May we all, no matter the nature of our storms and troubles, find the courage to share them so that others may learn and empathise. If I could ask one thing of anyone who may in the future read this blog it is that we better acknowledge our grief and disappointments, our weaknesses and our prejudices, so as to grow from them, and help others grow. When I give my sorrow words, now and in the future, that is my aim and my wish.