Don't Cry, Little Darlin'

How do you help someone when you can’t even help yourself? I wasn’t the only one who was suffering as the result of my son, Jordan’s death in February of 2016. My daughter had lost her best friend, her confidant, her hero. She was adrift in the same dark raging sea that I was in, and I was unable to rescue her. This was more than kissing away a boo-boo... more than buying an ice cream cone to chase away the hurt. This was a gaping, bleeding soul wound. I was struggling to survive what I thought I couldn’t... and I had nothing left to give. It added to my torment.

Madison was born 26 months after Jordan and he loved her from the start! I remember one day while I was packing up baby supplies for a day outing, Madison started to fuss and cry. I entered the room in time to hear Jordan say, “Don’t cry, little darlin’,” as he tenderly patted her arm and gave her a kiss on the cheek. When Jordan was in kindergarten he took Maddie’s picture to school for show-and-tell – the topic was what he was most thankful for! He was such a sweet and kind little boy.

The prepubescent years were a little rocky as sibling rivalry got a foothold. It was normal development and they were soon best friends again. In some ways they seemed like twins, but they were unique, and their differences complimented each other. Madison was extremely shy, and she depended on her big brother to help her in social situations. They shared secrets, dreams, frustrations and hurts. They shared a history.

A couple of months after Jordan’s death, we were staying at my mother-in-law’s house. I had been up for some time and went to check on Madison. She was awake... tears streaming down her face, but she was wearing the most beautiful smile. She told me that Jordan had come to her in a dream to let her know that he was okay. I believe the dream was a gift of grace and mercy from God as he allowed Jordan to once again tenderly care for his little sister.

Another gift of mercy came when opportunity allowed my daughter and I to spend several months together in the spring and summer following Jordan’s death. We were finally able to share our deep hurt and begin the long, difficult grief journey together.

Madison was just 22 years old when Jordan died. She was much too young to experience grief of that magnitude. I feel sad. I feel sad for her deep loss. I feel sad for the irreversible tragedy that has forever changed her. I also feel proud. I am proud that she uses her experience with profound grief to reach out to others. I am proud that she is so compassionate and caring. I am proud that she continues to cherish and safeguard her brother’s memory. I also feel thankful. I am thankful for a daughter who is kind, lovely and humble – a true peace maker in a hurting world. I am thankful for a daughter who understands and shares my pain. I know now that I can’t fix her pain and she can’t fix mine, but our shared understanding helps us endure the unbearable.

Like me, Madison does most of her deep mourning in private. I know she misses her confidant and the bond they shared... a connection that death itself cannot sever. I know she still cries for her great loss. I can just imagine Jordan patting her arm and saying, “Don’t cry, little darlin – we’ll be together again someday.” I also know he would be incredibly proud of the self-confident, courageous and caring woman she has become.