This post was originally written in October 2010.

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I first heard this line during a talk at our church years ago and thought it was brilliant.  As I’ve been sharing with more and more people about my miscarriage, I’ve been mulling over what this means:  Today I will not should on myself.

Many people, well-meaning and loving people, will respond to a miscarriage in a number of ways.  Here are some things that I’ve heard one too many times:

  • You’re young and healthy!  You’ll get pregnant again.
  • It’ll happen.  Don’t worry.
  • It’s very common.
  • My (fill in the blank) had multiple miscarriages and now she has healthy kids and is expecting one on the way!
  • Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.  Maybe you weren’t ready.
  • At least it happened early and not later.  Can you imagine?

Then there are others who will ask you a hundred and one questions, none of which you have answers for of course.

Why did this happen?  Did you do anything to cause it?  Will it happen again?  Will you start trying again?  Are you worried?  Why are you crying?  Is something wrong?

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I actually have a clever and snarky response to all of these and maybe one day I will share them with you.

It would be absolutely wonderful if there was always an explanation for the awful things that happen in our lives and the grief that follows.  And one of the most aggravating responses from people begins with this phrase: “You should. . . “

You should pray.  You should go somewhere safe and quiet and allow yourself to grieve.  Maybe you should journal.  You should remain hopeful.  You should rest.  And I probably should.  But all I want to do when I hear those words is rip my ears off and throw them at the person who said them.

I remember a few months after my one of my close friends had miscarried, she shared some concerns with me about having to attend a girls’ weekend away where horseback-riding and wine tasting were just some of the items on the agenda.  I remember stupidly responding, “You should go!  Babies are resilient; you should not feel like you have to put your life on hold every month.  You should go, relax, and have fun with your girls.  You deserve it.”

I count three “shoulds” in that response.  What I probably deserved was a punch to the face, but my friend was gracious enough to let it go.

What I failed to understand in that moment was my friend was still intensely grieving the loss of her baby.  I had forgotten this conversation was taking place just a few weeks after her baby would have been born had the baby made it to full-term.  I did not realize that instead of feeling excited about her weekend away, she was carefully considering how she could best prepare her body in the very event a baby might be growing in her womb after months of waiting, hoping and longing.

I had no idea.

All I thought in that moment was I wanted my friend to be happy again.  And so I think friends and loved ones do this – they try to say something or relate in whatever way they can, hoping to make you feel better in the process.  Most of the time you are left feeling worse, not better, and even more alone in your pain.

I am just beginning to learn that grieving is a long and arduous process.  Some of the most comforting moments these last few months have been when people were simply present with me.  They sat with me, listened to me, and cried with me.  Others reminded me they were thinking about me and Mr. Checkers.  These moments helped me to be honest when all I wanted to do was run and hide.

So for today, I will not should on myself.  I am certain there are a million things I should be doing, but for now I will choose to just be.