Anticipatory Grief at a Child’s Memorial Service

On Saturday, Safi and I attended a memorial service for a child. Even though we knew it would be really, really, REALLY difficult, we felt strongly about supporting the family involved.

Neither of us had ever been to a memorial service for a child before—no less a child who shared the same hospice team AND doctor as Soraya. There were a lot of unknowns about how this would impact us. Would seeing our hospice team in this context make the unavoidable fact that Soraya is dying sooner feel that much more real? Would that break us?

Safi and I talked a lot beforehand about our expectations for the day and what was on our minds leading up to it. It was interesting how differently we approached going—and what we felt once there.

Leading up to the day, Safi said he felt compelled to support all parents who had lost a child so they didn’t feel alone. He felt he could truly understand the possible pain the parents were going through due to our similar situation and would attend any funeral for a child if given the opportunity.

For me, it felt like we were a newly engaged couple attending a wedding while knowing our own was on the horizon. I wanted to learn about the logistics, the social norms, and most importantly see how the parents were doing.

I had so many questions (What would the service be like? How would things be set up? What was/wasn’t acceptable behavior?)... and I could trace them all back to the awful knowing that one day way too soon (even 10,000 years from now would be too soon) we’ll have to put on an event like this ourselves.

What we gathered once at the child’s memorial service is that people grieve and honor their loved ones SO differently. Some people were smiling the entire time. Others were sobbing. Many were silent.

There were beautiful pictures of the child and family everywhere. I had a really hard time seeing them. The pain of that loss felt sharp and maddening.

I kept thinking about what the parents and family were feeling. Safi, on the other hand, kept doing a flip script. He saw Soraya’s face in every picture, ourselves in the parents that were there, and our family in the slideshow that was playing. He bolted out before the service began and sobbed in the car.

I gave him his space. We knew going in it might be too much and had given each other permission to leave if needed and to take in this experience in whatever way felt right to us.

When we came home, Soraya wanted to know everything. It was like she was doing her own inventory on how we handle death. When she asked me what the hardest part was, I told her it was seeing the child’s clothes and belongings. I also said I had a hard time seeing the pain and hollowness in the eyes of the family.

She then asked me to text her how I would want my funeral so she could do what I would want when I die. What a beautiful idea.

What I gathered from this experience overall is that memorials are one moment in time. They are there for others to get closure. We all grieve differently—there is no right or wrong way. The pain and loss will last forever.

It also showed me that I would like an event coordinator for Soraya’s funeral (heck, and mine too!). It must be so much pressure and work to put something together when you are acutely reeling from the death of a loved one. Just the idea of it feels insurmountable.

What have been some of the best ways you’ve seen loved ones honored? Is there anything you’ve seen done for others who have passed that you’d like to one day be done for you?