RURAL REFLECTIONS: Now I do

I was hesitant to write this week, yet the voice in my head said that I should.

Yes, I have a voice in my head. Sometimes it just won't be quiet. Today I think it is right. This is my meager offering this week.

In speaking from my heart — one that is rather soggy right now — my message is to those of you who have lost a child.

We never think it will happen, do we? For years, I tried to help others who had their own struggles, their own pain, yet I'm not sure I truly understood the depth of their agony. Now I do.

Please love your children, because they really need it, as do you. Love the children in your family. It takes a village to raise a child. Some of the greatest influences in my life were my aunts, my great aunt, our neighbors, our friends.

You are someone else's gift. You are a blessing to the child.

Do the best you can with your children. Sometimes the task is difficult. Never be afraid to ask for help. Find sources to help you. There is no shame in asking for help. I am thankful for the help and information I gained over the years. We all struggle. There is no shame in admitting it. We can only do the best we can with the knowledge we gain.

How do you console someone who has lost a child? Love. That's the answer. Time and love. A loss such as this is unfathomable to understand. It is a life change for those who have lost a loved one. Love, compassion, empathy and kindness are gifts to the grieving heart. Even a casserole is a blessing (please do not bring us food). We are one another's keepers.

This message was important to me to share with you. Life is very difficult at times. We never know what lies ahead. All too often it changes in a flash, and we fall on our knees. So please realize the importance of each person, each day, each passing second. They can never be recaptured. We lean on one another to do the best we can. We celebrate joy with one another and also grief. Yes, we need one another.

My daughter Stacey Drake Stephens passed away on Saturday, Aug. 24, at the age of 52. I did not know the depth of pain that comes when a child is gone.

Now I do.