Most Likely To Bail Us Out
I had a weekend away recently(not so recently anymore) to celebrate an amazing woman who has forged her way in this world with no apologies and by being her truest self. Sixteen incredible women created space in their lives to make lasting memories for my friend’s upcoming nuptials.
We’re all in our late 30s and early to mid-40s. No drama mamas. We had such a good time.
One of the weekend activities was wearing custom shirts that described us in this “party” atmosphere. Mine was spot-on, and I wear it all the time now.
My shirt read “Most Likely to Bail Us Out.”
It fits me perfectly. I’ll always try to step up and help someone who’s helped me, or who I know would help me if I asked. That’s what makes this hard.
How do I bail out my family from this nightmare?
How do I protect them from this awful, miserable hurt?
What do you do for your people who are grieving the same loss as you? What do you do as a mom and a wife? How am I supposed to help our daughter through losing her younger brother? How am I supposed to help my husband lose his son?
Why isn’t someone helping me?
I feel like I’m in a cage at the zoo, with everyone looking in, waiting for a reaction to every new piece of information. Information that will never, ever be positive.
There were so many people surrounding us with love, comfort, laughter, and, some might say, totally inappropriate humor. I don’t remember much of it. The memories come back in flashes, like movie cut-scenes—quick, silent, but full of emotion.
What is Silent Emotion?
Silent Emotion shows up uninvited, astonishingly strong and eerily quiet. It arrives in the tears that fall because your heart and soul can’t contain the sadness any longer.
“Sometimes you have to let a little bit out to make room for the new,” my husband once said.
We were watching TV, and I looked over to see him struggling to hold in the ache, fighting back the sobs. I asked, “Are you okay?” knowing full well neither of us ever really would be again.
I wanted to help him through it. I wanted to take his sobs into my empty soul so he wouldn’t have to keep suffering. I needed to be able to bail him out.
Our daughter, the big sister, is smart, hilarious, curious, beautiful, and, as most people say, perfect. How could I possibly help her through losing her brother? They were close. Their adult selves were just starting to see each other clearly, becoming friends in a way only siblings can once they’re grown.
How do I bail her out of this nightmare?
Maybe I’m the one who needs bailing out.
I’m strong, independent, smart, and capable. But bailing us out of this endless cycle of ache and pain? I don’t know how to do that.
Still, I am “Most Likely to Bail Us Out.”
And honestly, I’m grateful for the friends who recognize that, and even more grateful for the humor in it, because it’s true.
During our bachelorette weekend, I really did “bail out” a few of the crew by driving three minutes into town to pick up anyone who needed a ride back to our rental house. Easy work for me.
Because that’s what I do.
XOXO
Briana
PS
When I re-read what I wrote most times… I surprise myself and have valuable realizations/ thoughts that I’d love to share… You can read them below.
Postscript: Most Likely To Bail Us Out
This was a fun entry to write. It brought me back to the girls getaway that prompted the post. And although the entry is tough to read through with the sadder stuff, I go back and re-read it with excitement.
The substance that I put into this blog post is pretty raw and most of it is all natural. Not too much was edited. I enjoy reading it again, because I need to keep remembering life.
I have felt alone a lot in my life. Always on an island, trying to find my lane, or role, if you will. My dad was a police officer, so I was the cop’s kid. I had my mom’s attitude, so I was the one that my teachers got mad at a lot. I was the friend who wasn’t and still isn’t scared to debate with my friends’ parents. I always thought I was in the right, and they always did a great job of redirecting my attitude when needed. I was the first one in our friend group to have a baby. That was tough! I am also the first one to lose parents, and sadly the only one to lose my child. I do not want any of my friends and family to endure the losses we have. I wish I could be the person to go about seeking out their pain and hurt and take it away and feel it for them. I want to be the one to keep bailing us out, because I think that is my role. I now think I was made to endure.
I don’t love it, but I continue to handle things with as much grace as I can.
We will probably always feel lost in a world that holds no safe space for parents who have lost their children. Yet even here, in the ache of absence, we keep finding the next step—together. Because no matter how many times we lose our way, we return to each other.