In a world of specialization and smokestacks of information, journalists get to know a lot about a lot of different topics.
One of the hardest stories I ever wrote was the one about SIDS. Before that story, I had no idea that babies died for seemingly no reason. That air passages could so easily give up and that lives could be so quickly changed. I’ve never forgotten the lost looks in the eyes of the mother and grandmother interviewed. There is no way to properly discuss the death of a child.
No one is equipped for that. No helmet, catcher’s mitt, mask, chest protector or leg guards can do the trick of stalling the ache that comes from such a loss. And in the end, always, death is about someone’s child.
But there I was, a new mom myself, asking personal questions about a hurt so raw, so recent, though it had been a year or two. The two were starting a support group. They wanted to get the word out. They wanted the opportunity to talk about death. They started by sharing with me what they could. And I shared what was needed to get a story written and for a support group to be born.
To date, for me, there’s always been another cup of coffee to drink, another tree to climb, one more piece of pie. But that day I became aware that no matter how much time lapses, and though every day is a new day if you get to have it, some things make coffee taste more bitter, make trees less attractive for an adventure, and make pie lose its flavor.
What do you know that you wish you didn’t?
What do you wish you could share that you can’t?
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