You say “I don’t know what to say, but I’m sorry.”
You way “I’ll be around when you need me.”
You don’t say “Oh you can try again.” You don’t say nothing at all and disappear.
And you understand. That your friend might be unable to see you (or anyone) for a while. She’ll really want to, but when it comes time the effort will be too much. Your friend is liable to be flakey because suddenly everywhere she looks there are babies, and pregnant women and the fear that her living child might suddenly die without her eyes on her every second is paralyzing. That she lies awake all night checking and rechecking breathing, because suddenly, mortality is everywhere. Your friend is going to say too much, too little and make mistakes. She’s grieving and it’s a messy, horrid, disorganized process. The whole family is grieving and they’ll get a little bit better, then a bit worse and finally things will slowly, slowly return to almost normal. But it isn’t going to be the same ever again.
And that being at this crossroads of deciding to try one more time or stop trying is finding the abyss staring back. Unless it’s happened you can’t possibly imagine, that’s true, but you can, well….try. And be very very patient.
