We Are All the Same Inside.
Today I met with a family that lost their beloved daughter… while her children lost their mother.
We don’t speak the same language. I had to find someone to interpret what I was saying, and I did my best to translate our brochure for them before we met.
I asked them to tell me about their daughter, and her mother began to cry. Her father began proudly talking about how beautiful she was inside and out, even as he too began tearing up.
In their small living room sat Bob, a representative from Catholic Charities, police officers (between 1 and 3 at any time), the young woman’s family, and me. I explained (through a translator) what Corey’s Network, Inc. does… connecting them with counseling, explaining the investigation, navigating the media, and helping to pay for the funeral.
I was so pleased to inform them that the funeral home (Speaks) was donating a great deal of their services and the company that handles opening and closing the grave was donating all of their services. They would be able to provide their daughter with a complete funeral.
I listened to the father as he excitedly asked “¿No hay cremación?” I don’t understand everything I hear in Spanish, but I recognized that question. I looked him in the eye and said, “No. No cremation unless you want it.”
This sweet couple moved to Independence 5 months ago to be close to their daughter and grandchildren.
Now they will be raising them.
Once again, due to our involvement, I found myself in front of the news cameras. I was happy to do this for the family because they aren’t ready for that exposure.
However, I was asked again, “Can you explain to our audience what it’s like to go through this experience?”
My answer? “No. Even if I could explain it, I wouldn’t want you to know what it’s like. I hope you never find out. But if you do, know that we will be here to help.”
Back inside with the parents, I looked across the room at her mom. She was beginning to fold into her tears. I stood up to catch her, and her daughter and I reached her at the same time. She began to sob into her daughter’s shoulder while I rubbed her back.
When her daughter stood up, I reached for both of her parent’s hands and asked her to translate for me.
And I prayed.
With an echo of my words in a language I didn’t understand.
But with hearts that understood each other completely… though I couldn’t describe it to the reporter…
Grief recognizes no boundaries.
It doesn’t discriminate.
It knows no language.
When a heart breaks, it doesn’t care who helped to heal it.
What’s important is we recognize the wounds in each other, and try to stop the bleeding.