Allyson, I understand. I have never unheard the sounds my dad made when my mother told him that his brother (and his best friend) died in an car accident. It's so raw.

It's the hardest thing to ever have to tell anyone about a loved one. There's no easy way. I'm sure they were better to have heard it from someone who loved ita and who could share their grief.

Allyson, do you have a therapist or someone you could talk to professionally? That seems worth doing -- this is too much to deal with on your own.

Oh, Allyson. I am so sorry.

Allyson, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. There are things none of us should have to see or hear. It doesn't make it better, but we love you. And we'll do whatever we can to get you through this.

Thank you for sharing that with us. It's searing and unimaginable and you absolutely should not have to carry the weight of that memory alone.

There is mercy in that someone who loved her told them.

This. It's bleak to no comfort, but a kind and polite stranger would have been even worse, would have broken them even more badly (and they might not even have wailed or pleaded, but might have felt compelled to keep their shit together until after the call was over, even if it wrecked them even more -- but you are an emotional safe place for them; you're on the inside of their circle of absolute unguarded trust).

Allyson, much love to you. I'm sorry you had to go through that, but I'm glad it was you and not some stranger who broke the news to ita's family.

Oh Allyson. So sorry. No words are enough. But you didn't do anything wrong. You did something impossibly difficult the best you could.

And I needed a new post to say...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE NICEST!

Oh, Allyson. I am so sorry you have that weight on top if everything else.

God, Allyson. So hard.

I still vividly remember the anguish in my Mom's voice calling out to me after she got the call that her father had died.