Dear Jennifer

Dear Jennifer,

You don’t know me, we’ve never met, but we became sisters this week. It’s a sisterhood that I wish you didn’t join, so I’m not going to welcome you. You don’t want to be here either, but my arms are wide open for you anyway because we need each other.

I couldn’t sleep last night. And I know you didn’t either. I was up, alone, rubbing my son’s leg cramps. I’ve been up, being his momma alone, for a little over two years now. And as I sat there on his bed I wept and thought of you, and remembered my own first night. I know the road you are about to walk, and my soul feels the crushing weight of it for you. Nothing about this week and the days ahead make any sense. You’ll plan a funeral, you’ll love and hold your babies, you’ll hear endless sympathies and face so many well meaning visitors. Weren’t you just giving him a goodnight kiss and crawling under the covers? Why, God, why?

As I sat awake last night I begged God to be near to you. He is near to the brokenhearted in ways that not many people will ever understand. You will understand. I prayed for your heart to be able to welcome the comfort of the Holy Spirit. I prayed that you would hear songs that draw your gaze to heaven. I prayed that you would be filled with such awe and wonder that Philip gets to sit at the very feet of Jesus that you wouldn’t be able to contain your worship of Him, despite the raging, confusing questions.

But It’s okay if you can’t speak a single word of prayer. It’s okay if you utter the name of Jesus and break down into angry weeping. It’s okay to use every swear word in the book. It’s okay to take your coffee table into the street in front of your house, in the middle of the night no less, and smash it to pieces with a sledgehammer. (I couldn’t be the only one who has done that…) When well meaning people tell you to eat, it’s okay to ignore them. It’s okay to ask for every ounce of help you need. It’s okay to need a break from your kids, it’s okay to need a break from everyone. It’s also okay to have people around you 24/7 for as long as you need.

Sister, I want to make you a promise. Your babies are going to be okay.

They. Will. Be. Okay.

Another promise. YOU CAN DO THIS.

You. Can. Do. This.

Here’s what you can do for them. Never ever stop talking about their daddy. Let them see you miss him and cry for him. Look at pictures all the time, write down all the ways their daddy loved them, played with them, cherished them. It’s going to be hard and painful for a while, but later on down the road it will be beautiful to be able to talk about those things with them.

Soon, people will be begin returning to their lives while yours stands still. It’s okay to hate them for it. I’m praying that a compassionate, loyal, fierce loving circle will stay with you. And then when you’re ready, and you need someone who understands, I’ll be here. You may never read my words, and that’s fine, but I wanted them to be here in case you ever needed them.

Philip will never be forgotten.

Your sister,

Stephanie

Jennifer’s husband, Philip Ganzfried, passed away suddenly in his sleep this week. They have two young children, ages 4 and 2. You can find a link to their Go Fund Me by clicking HERE.