No Longer Leading Through Experience

No Longer Leading Through Experience

By Sarah Hilman, Everly’s Aunt

I will never forget that Tuesday night in August 2018. I am a teacher and it was our first week of school. I had just finished up 2 days of teacher meetings and was getting ready for my first day with students. Our family had just finished up dinner and my phone rang while I was cleaning the kitchen. I glanced at it and saw it was my brother-in-law Nick. He never calls me, and immediately I felt in my heart it wasn’t going to be good news. I let it go to voicemail and he immediately called back again. I texted him and asked if something was wrong, knowing deep down something was definitely wrong. He replied yes, and that I needed to call immediately. I handed the phone to my husband and made him call.

My deepest fear was that something had happened to my sister, my best friend, and I couldn’t handle it. So while I put our girls to bed, my husband called. When I came back downstairs, he made me sit down, and told me Everly had died that afternoon.

I of course was immediately filled with questions, how, what happened, where, how is Martha? I told him I had to call her and went into the backyard to make the most difficult phone call of my life.

When my little sister answered all we could do was cry. She told me what little they knew and we just cried together.

I remember saying to her “I don’t know what to do, this is something that only happens to other people”. Yet here it was happening to our family.

She asked me to contact the rest of our immediate family, including our parents and brother. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to make it through those phone calls, so fortunately my husband offered to make those calls.

I told Martha I was packing a bag and would make the 3 hour trip to her house as soon as I could wrap up loose ends at school the following morning. I texted my principal and told her what had happened and was so fortunate that she immediately said, “Go, take whatever time you need, we will take care of school.” 

The next day I made the trip to St. Louis. I spent the 3-hour drive trying to wrap my brain around what was happening and what I was walking into. 

When I walked into their house I will never forget how lost Martha and Nick looked. None of us knew what to do or where to go from there. I am a planner and a doer, so I immediately asked what they needed and how I could help. I followed their lead in putting away some of the larger toys in the living room that Everly had been learning to use, her activity mat, her bouncy chair, her high chair. All reminders of a sweet baby that would never be coming home.

When they were expecting their 3 year old home from preschool, I volunteered to make a grocery store run so they could have time to tell her about Everly.

I reached out to pastors and friends who own a funeral home to find out what to expect moving forward. I contacted family and helped make arrangements for out of town guests to come and stay.

Those first few days were a whirlwind that seemed to both fly by and drag all at the same time. I did my best to follow Martha and Nick’s lead in what they needed and how best to help them and give them the space they needed to grieve.

The following Sunday while talking to a friend at church, I had a realization that helped put into perspective for me why this was such a difficult process. Not only was I grieving the loss of my niece, and helping my children understand the loss of their beloved cousin, but for the first time ever in my life, I was helping my sister get through a life experience that I had never experienced.

As the older sister, I had done everything first, I went through high school first, college, moved out of our parents house, got married, had kids. I had always been able to provide support and advice from my own real life experiences. But for the first time in our lives, Martha was walking a road that I had no idea how to help her navigate. I felt lost and helpless as a big sister.

In the months that followed I learned to follow their lead on what they needed from us. I would send text messages and leave the door open for them to talk, or not talk as they needed. We celebrated Christmas together that year, with hints of Everly throughout the day.

As summer approached and the first anniversary of Everly’s death loomed ahead, my husband and I made the decision to spend the week together with Martha, Nick and Campbell. It was wonderful for our families to be together and spend the week sharing the love and memories of Everly. My own 3 girls were 2, 7 and 10 when Everly passed away and felt the loss as much as anyone in our family. Our oldest had a picture of her and Everly hanging in her locker at school that continues to be one of her most treasured possessions. Our youngest, even though she was only 2 when Everly died,  talks about Everly frequently and how she is in heaven with others our family has lost. I hope and pray that our conversations and traditions will keep Everly’s memory in their lives as they grow up.

As a family member helping my sister and brother-in-law through this loss, I had no idea what the right and wrong things were to do. So many times, I just deferred to their lead in trying to help them walk this road. In the immediate days, I simply made sure they were fed and that any needs they had were taken care of.

I tried as best I could to work as a go between, for so many friends and family that wanted to help. When they mentioned wanting their house cleaned before everyone came for the funeral, I worked with local friends to find someone to do that for them. I answered the door and kept track of the many meals and flowers that were coming into the house. I helped coordinate contact with out of town family members who were coming for the funeral to keep track of who was coming when and where they would stay. I did their laundry, and put away Everly’s clothes in her dresser, imagining just how painful that would be for them. Eventually I helped her find a good home for Everly’s clothes, with friends who had just had a baby girl.

In the weeks that followed, Martha and I were in daily contact, sometimes it was just a quick check-in to make sure they were ok, other times it was a lengthy conversation on what the next steps were. 

Looking back now, I realize there was never going to be a perfect way to help. I couldn’t fix what had happened, take away their pain, or find the right words to make it better.

What I could do was show up. I could answer the phone, sit with them in the hard moments, help with the practical things, say Everly’s name, and continue to remember her as the years passed.

If you are supporting someone after the death of a child, you may feel helpless at times. I know I did. But I’ve learned that you don’t have to have all the answers. Often, the most meaningful thing you can do is simply be there, follow their lead, and remind them through your actions that they do not have to carry their grief alone.