What people say when they don't know what to say | Adrianne Haslet-Davis | TEDxBeaconStreet

This talk was given at a local TEDx event, produced independently of the TED Conferences.

We say a lot of things when we do not know what to say. When we get that call that our daughter, mother, brother, spouse or any loved one has been confronted with the unimaginable. We spend the entire car ride to the hospital carefully and thoughtfully arranging the words that will miraculously make everything just go away. It comes from a place of love. Yet even deeper than that, Adrianne Haslet-Davis believes, it comes from a place of fear. Fear of the truth; that no matter what you say, nothing will make it better. An amputee from the Boston Marathon Bombings, Adrianne gives us the guidebook on a topic we will all face in one way or another our lives. This riveting talk is told through Adrianne's own stories of recovery where she learned very quickly that even the most well-intentioned words would never make her leg grow back.

I remember the morning
of April 15th, 2013.

I woke up a morning unlike any other.

In that wonderful state
between awake and asleep,

I heard the familiar sounds of the milk
being pulled from the fridge door

and the sound of the coffee
being poured into the French press.

And I lay there in my sort
of awake, sort of slumber,

and I think to myself,

"Yes! My cats have finally learned
how to make me coffee!"

"Yes!" (Laughter)

I am so happy about this discovery,

so happy in fact that I opened my eyes

and standing before me
is even a happier discovery:

a tall, very handsome man
that is familiar yet unrecognizable.

And he has two coffee mugs in his hand,
and he says, "Babe, I made you coffee."

And it all comes flooding back to me.

Christmas alone. Thanksgiving alone.

Valentine's Day alone.

My husband had been gone
in Afghanistan, and he was home now.

So we cuddled on the couch
with our coffees,

and we turned on the television

just in time to see the elite runners
cross the finish line,

and just in time to hear the words,

"Lelisa Desisa has just won
the 2013 Boston Marathon.

It is his first Boston marathon."

And I thought, "Of course,
why not win the first one you try?"

Why? What?
I'm going to, right? Certainly.

And I turned to my husband
and I said, "You know,

we should really do
something with our day."

We're still in our pajamas
and this guy's done 26.2.

So we got up, got dressed,
and we went to lunch.

And he looked at me, and he said,
"Do you remember?"

"Babe, do you remember?"

And I said, "Remember what?"

And he said, "This is the same table,
this is the same restaurant

where we had our last meal
before I left for Afghanistan.

Where we talked about what it would be
like if I didn't come back.

Where we talked about
what it would be like if I lost a limb.

Where we talked about
what it would be like

if I were injured in any, any way at all."

We ordered a couple of cocktails,
which I will be later very glad I ordered.

And we cheered,
and we started to make plans

the way only a military family can make
plans when your loved one is home safe.

And he looked at me, and he said,
"Let's go watch the marathon."

And I said, "Let's do it.
Let's do it. Absolutely."

We crossed onto Boylston Street
and "Bam!", we heard a loud bang,

and next thing we knew,
we were on the sidewalk.

I was looking down
at a waterfall of blood

that used to be my left foot.

My husband covered in shrapnel.

And I thought two things.

Number one: there is not
a single man on this planet

that I would rather be lying
next to, in this moment.

And two: this is it.

And just when we started to say the things

that only married people
can say in a time like this,

Boston's bravest came and swooped me up
and took me to the nearest hospital.

And there I was;

lying there,

no longer the bronzed,
beautiful, ballroom dancer

bedazzled, ready to perform.

I was cut up, shredded up,
stapled back together,

sewn up, glued.

No plastics saw me, let me tell you.

I lost four inches of hair.
I looked like a troll doll.

I was covered in other people's fabric,
other people's blood.

And it was a mess.

And I had visitors.

I had visitors with mouths,
and those mouths had opinions.

And I learned something:

that people say a lot of things
when they don't know what to say.

And we were told, at an early age,

that when people say things
when they don't know what to say

and when people say things
to make you feel better,

it comes from a place of love.

And I got confused; I thought,

this nurse that's telling me,
"You better get it together.

You better get it together
because your family needs you.

It has already been
four days. Get over it.

Your family needs you.
It is on you to make them feel better."

Or every other person
that looked right at me and said,

"I would have come sooner,
but I had no idea what to say,"

which is a shining billboard

for those of us
that are suffering that says,

"You are so awkward to be around I can't
even be in the same room with you,"

which turns me into the person
that needs to make you feel better.

And turns anyone lying in a hospital bed
to make them feel better.

So I start to plead, "Friend no, I'm OK,
I'm OK, I'm going to be fine.

I'm going to dance again.
I'm going to do all of these things,"

even if I don't believe it
because I feel so badly

that I am that awkward,
and that mangled, and that messed up.

We are taught at an early age
that when people say things and do things

it comes from a place of love
in a time of trauma,

yet, I am here on this stage
to argue differently.

I think it comes from a place
deeper than love.

I think it comes from a place of fear.

Fear of the truth.

We spend our entire car ride,

after we get that call,

weaving together

the perfect amount of sentences
that will make the pain go away.

But our fear of the truth

is that no matter
how many sentences we weave together,

nothing will make the pain go away.

I've heard it all.
My leg never grew back.

Fear of this awful truth can make us say
some pretty awful things.

In panic mode,
when you see your friend mangled,

or someone, who shall remain nameless
looks at you and says,

"Well at least you still have
a pretty face."

I immediately respond with,
"Well since we're on the subject,

my brain and my ass
are just as stunning, thank you."

(Laughter)

"Thank you for noticing
that I have a pretty face.

And that's all I got left in my life.
Appreciate that."

Or a doctor who stops you,
who is not my own, make that clear,

lays a hand on my shoulder
at the wheelchair,

as I'm wheeling through the room
and says to me,

"I need to tell you something."

"I heard your interview this morning,

and I heard you say
you wanted to dance again

and I am hear to tell you
I've been here, I've been here for years.

I'm here to tell you
you shouldn't have hope.

I have never seen an amputee dancer
in all of my years.

It's not going to happen,
you're chances are one in a million."

And I raised my finger in the air,

and I told him if my chances are
one in a million I will be that one,

- mixed with other words -

and then I turned around

(Laughter)

and I wheeled the other direction
bawling my eyes out,

only hoping that my words were true.

And if you think
that's the worse it's not.

I remember it used to be a friend of mine
who came to me, yeah that's why,

who came to me and said,

"You know? I'm starting my own business
and garbage costs are so awful.

They're just awful.
And they're so expensive.

I know that they cut off

the rest of your leg and a lot
of other body parts at this hospital.

Do you know how much
it costs to cut off the rest of your leg?"

Ladies and gentlemen, words are powerful.

Sticks and stones will obliterate my bones
but words will stay with me forever,

especially in vulnerable times

that your friends and family
will go through,

not necessarily in my same situation,

but you will get that call

when your mother, brother, friend, lover
is going through the unimaginable.

So I'm here to give you the guidebook

because we will all get that call
as much as we don't want to.

Number one, the most important:
take the temperature of the room.

Are they throwing things?
Give them something to throw.

Are they laughing at the television
when you think they should be crying?

Laugh with them.

Are they just sitting in silence?
Be in silence with them.

Emotions run high.

It is important to know
the stages of emotions

when one is facing tragedy,

especially before you end up
in that hospital room.

Don't tell them what you just googled
5 minutes before you walked out the door,

or what your religion
says about their condition.

Be present with them. Be their friend.

I remember one rainy Sunday afternoon

when my husband and I were going through

countless brochures, and handouts,
and flash dance sweatshirts

sent to me by every single
dance studio in the country

- which I still wear, thank you -

- should have worn one today maybe -

and we were going through all these things

and I came across two brochures,

two brochures I hope that nobody
in the room has to deal with.

One was what to do
after a terrorist attack.

The other was how to cope with limb loss.

And I looked at my husband and I said,

"Where did we get these?
I don't remember getting these?"

And he said, "Well,
the FBI brought the terrorist attack one,

and a peer visiting group brought
the "How to cope with limb loss".

You threw through it behind your shoulder,

said, 'I don't know why they brought that.
I'm not an amputee.'"

That, ladies and gentlemen, is proof

that you will not except help
until you are ready for it.

That day I was ready. He was ready.
I was bawling. He was bawling.

- Sorry to call you out babe -

We were bawling together,
and I thumbed through this thing

- after throwing the terrorist attack one
behind my shoulder

because "No thanks.
I'll be there one day." -

and I go through this
and I say to myself, oh, my gosh!

Adam, look, look! Look at this brochure.
This can help people help us.

It's the stages of grieving
after limb loss,

which is no different
than the stages of grieving;

from grieving from a loss of a job,
loss of a loved one, loss of a friendship.

Shock and denial. Anger. Depression.

Pleading. More anger. More depression.

It's not pretty, but it's there.
And acceptance, and helping others.

Helping others? I wanted
to get to that point.

I was way over here, but even seeing
this chart made me feel better.

I told Adam we have to tell people.

We have to tell people about this
because this makes a difference.

This is what will help people help people.

I'll tell you some examples that worked,

some examples that I've learned
after being invited into hospital rooms

since my tragedy
and families' hopes that I would help.

I'll never forget a friend who said,
after a phone call,

"Hey. I saw you missed
your favorite dance show last week.

It's on rerun tonight. I'm bringing pizza.
What do you want on it?"

Simple. Straight forward. Awesome.

"Cheese, cheese, and more cheese, please.

Hospital food stinks. Please, bring it on.

Pack two. I'll put one
in a fridge somewhere."

Number two.

I'll never forget

that someone had dropped off
a cup of Starbucks.

My perfectly ordered cup of Starbucks
every single morning before I woke up.

And perhaps this was the most profound
because I never knew who did it.

And that's my point today.

Is that it's not about us
going to visit our friends.

It's about our friends,
and it's about our loved ones.

They went out of their way to find out
what that cup of coffee was

and they made it.

They made that trip to Starbucks,
and they ordered that for me.

They knew my creature comfort.

Does your friend or loved one have
a dirty pair of old socks

with the holes sticking out
that you always make fun of?

That's there comfort. Bring that to them.

Print out a photo on Facebook,
of their cats, or their family,

or their dogs, or their cats.

And bring it to them.
Have that be their comfort.

You don't have to show up.
You don't have to say anything.

It's not about us. It's not about us being
the hero. We won't be and that's OK.

I am here today
to relieve you of the burden,

no no, to relieve you of the stress;

to give you the permission to show up,
shut up, and not say a single word.

Just be there, hold their hand,
and if you must say something

say the words that my husband says to me,

"Babe. I do not understand,

but it is so important to me to tell you
how desperately I want to.

Thank you for your time.

(Applause)

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

(Applause)