To the core
You know what annoys me, like, a lot? People around us who manage, effortlessly it seems, to make their interactions with us in our grief, yes, say it with me... all about them. People who make a production, often somewhat publicly, out of agonizing over whether to call their grieving friends, and of what to say. The sort of backdoor self-compliment highlighted on last night's 30 Rock-- "It's hard for me to watch American Idol because I have perfect pitch,"-- the "It's hard for me to talk to grieving people because of how sensitive and considerate I am" sort of thing.
Luckily, we didn't get many of these directed at us. This past winter, though, I got to witness a public (in as far as an open post on the wilds of the internets is public) display of woe-is-me-I-want-to-be-the-bestest-friend-ever-but-
-it's-so-hard-how-do-I-make-everything-better bit. It took me a few minutes to figure out what was so distasteful to me in that piece of writing and the follow up comments from the author, but then I got it-- it was all about her, about her desire to fix things so she can be seen as the savior, the one who did the right thing, the rightest thing.
Now, I get that humans are self-centered animals, and I am certainly not blameless on that front myself. But dude, if there is one area, one effing area of human interaction where it behooves you to check your shit at the door, this might be it. Don't you think? I get, too, that doing something, anything, makes people feel less powerless in the face of the big bad random universe. But see above re: checking shit. Because making yourself feel better at the expense of the person already in pain is.. how do I say it... oh, yes-- a pretty shitty thing to do.
This concludes the rant portion of today's post, and brings us to the part where I contemplate, much more calmly, I hope, thoughts this brought up.
In that post, a few commenters tried, very gently, to tell the author that in grief there is no fixing things, that basically all you can do is be there for your friend, but she wasn't listening. But, but, but was all she had to answer. Finally, Aite, a good friend I've mentioned before, basically gave it to her straight-- it's not about you. Entering the grieving person's space should not be about worrying about how you will look doing the entering. You can't fix anything. Grief is what happens when there is nothing to do. Don't try to fix it, and you won't look dumb. You can't "remind" someone of their grief-- they remember all the time. Whether they want you to bring it up or wait for them to do so is individual, and you should follow your friend's lead in that, but assuming that people forget and you can remind them is pure wishful thinking.
My friend is mighty skilled in this art of abiding, being there for your friend, selflessly, at whatever distance and with whatever in hand your friend needs. I hope, too, that what we are doing here, in this space, is also very much abiding. Talking, listening, not trying to fix the unfixable. Now, if only laptops could dispense booze too... I'd send you all a drink or five.
So who is this grieving person now? If you are the one doing the abiding, who do you assume is in front of you? Is the grieving person changed, forever altered by the grief? Or is this the same person you have known all this time, only in pain and grieving? Are we changed or are we, at the core, the same?
My first impulse was to say that of course we have changed. A deadbaby blogger who has since gone private was told by one of her friends to not let this change her. What a shitty thing to say, was my immediate response. Would you tell that to a mom who has birthed a living baby? Hell, no. It's a foundational value of our society that parenthood changes people. In the classical mythology of the media and entertainment as well as the assumed playground wisdom, there are things only a parent can understand. Condescending? Of course. But also pervasive and commonly accepted. So why would people not allow it as the same level of truth that having a dead baby should change you? Change you as profoundly and as deeply as having a live one is assumed to change you? And also, don't we all change just by living? Would you want to still be your high school self?
But isn't it also true that we are the same basic people, only now with extra crunchy shitty experiences included? Extra sad. With extra tender feelings. Extra sensitive to things people say without thinking. Maybe even wiser and more compassionate. But with the same chewy center?
What defines us as people? Are we changed abruptly, or are we in the process of integrating our grief into the fabric of our selves? Are we defined by grief, or are we living towards defining our grief as a part of our selves? Are we changed, or are we ever-changing?
julia
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I had to laugh at the comment to the poor bereaved mother not to "let this change her." Laugh, that is, in that cynical, understanding, incredulous sort of that way, of course. What a a silly naive thing to say. We all undergo life experiences all the time that change us, whether we choose to acknowledge them or not. Sometimes it is merely a change in perspective, sometimes it is larger and results in a change of values, core beliefs, or even personality. Not wanting someone else to change is really the height of self-involvement, and yet, I say that with humility. Because the truth is, I had to watch how much my Mom changed after my Dad's death and everything in me wanted her to go back to the way she was when he was alive. I wanted her to be able to live solo the same way she did when she was a duo. Impossible? Yes. Selfish on my part? Yes. But I knew it, I still know it, and I try very hard to accept how she has changed.
Maybe it's only because I am further down the road in my grief, or maybe it is because I have struggled with how to support my own mother in her grief, but I actually have a lot of sympathy for how hard it can be to be on the other side. Not in that whiney, 'oh, poor me' kind of way... I would never think that. I just get that it isn't easy to watch someone you love in pain, it actually hurts. And abiding isn't always as easy as it sounds.
I know I have changed as the result of my loss. Actually, quite a lot. And mostly, for the better- although that took awhile.
Your post is so timely. I loved it. I was just contemplating this exact point with a friend who is going through a tough time right now (not loss of a baby but a challenging bumpy time) and was trying to express this exact sentiment. In my experience, those people you are referring to that are doing what you speak of, seem to be those people whose lives have never been turned upside down by any sort of hard time. They just bump along and "think" that they understand grief; when in fact, they never have faced anything remotely close. Not that I would wish grief of any kind (be it loss, divorce, illness etc.) on anyone - but really, if you've never been there, you just don't get it.
That said, it is what it is...and I find that the best way to eliminate that frustration with those sorts of people (one of which is one of my former best friends) is to remove myself from the situation when it starts happening. I don't go there with her - sad, but true. She will act like she has angelic intentions, but really, she's doing what she's doing for her OWN sake. It goes without saying (I thought) that most of the time, it's better to say nothing, rather than something stupid when someone is in pain. Especially if you haven't walked in their shoes and can't even begin to understand the depth of the pain. Thanks for sharing your thoughts - you captured it perfectly.
check your shit at the door, indeed. great post, julia.
your friend aite is right on, of course. people are so clueless and self absorbed about grief unless they've been there, and deadbaby grief is a unique kind of process. it IS always about the other person -- they don't want to say the wrong thing, or deal with unpleasantness or the pain of the bereaved, and/or they need to be a fixer, or want their old friend back. how could they not appreciate that it IS a life-changing event that cannot be fixed, even with time? if only they could just abide.
I am both forever changed and still in the process of integrating my grief into my current self. nothing was ever the same after that moment of truth. I like to think I am not defined by my deadbaby, even though his death was defining and transformative.
in truth I think most people IRL would like to forget about my son who they never knew, so I doubt they define me that way. but since I have no living children, I often feel I'm viewed as the 'sad infertile' -- mother to no child. which also makes people uncomfortable.
~luna
btw, I love 30 rock too.
Thank you for this post. As someone who has been absorbing all of your stories, and is mostly untouched by huge life tragedies, I struggle with this. I wish to be supportive and help to honor all of you and I find that I try to check in with myself before posting or commenting because I do fear that I will commit that faux paux and forget to "check my shit".
I think it is profound your comments about parenthood changing your life. Why is it that as a society we can accept that with living children and not for people who's children have died? The whole process of choosing/or not choosing when to conceive, how to proceed through our pregnancies, the decisions we make about parenting, balancing life, work, selves and others is all the same.
I've seen different takes on the "defining of self" in relation to your children's death in writing and I think everyone has to resolve that within themselves and as you've mentioned we are changed with every life experience. As an outsider, if it were someone I knew I would just hope that they wouldn't lose themselves, their inner self, as they move down the path, even if it does happen for a time. But even then... I speak out of ignorance.
These types of conversation I thank you all for because I hope it is helping me continue to grow.
I - DID - NOT - CHANGE - AT - ALL
STOP
I - AM - A - ROBOT
STOP
VERY - HANDY - INDEED
STOP
(that was my way of saying I liked your post too.)
Julia- i think this is an astute post to say the least. i have found myself a few times wanting to throttle a particular member of my partners family for her--how shall i put it, for her particular brand of compassion. needless to say she is not some one i deal with anymore. and a few other asshats to boot. they get their only little place in the blogoshpere the angry place. where i tell them exactly what jerk offs they are for making it all about them.
but it never fails to amaze me the jackassery of the "i get it, because i am such a martyr" and the ignorance that the exude during some of our lowest moments.
nice post.
Of course the grief changes you and it consumes you for a while too. Eventually you are able to are able to not hold it so tightly in your fist and then it just becomes part of you. YOu are the same person, but with more facets.
Oh! I just love how I act like I have it all figured out. HA! Ha Ha!
I have one friend who doesn't mention it at all (but she is newly pregnant,with her first, so I can't really blame her). Another friend who practically pulled her hair out trying to decide if she should come visit, oh would her 8 month old just be too much for me to bear and on and on and on and I just said, "you know what? I don't care. You are welcome to come, but I don't want to talk about it anymore." And I have one dear, dear friend who just sits with me. I am so grateful to her and I have to admit that I wonder if I would be able to do the same.
Great post.
I think grief becomes part of us. It's a truism that you are not really an adult until you've lost a parent. Well, I don't know if that's entirely true, there are other losses (clearly) that force you to grow up. In my case, I didn't really grow up until my mom died when I was 30. Losing that relationship changed me. For better or for worse, no one loves you like your parent.
For me, losing my boys has reinforced that "growing up" so to speak. These are some of the most basic loves, the most basic relationships. And now there is no safe place. Learning that I cannot even provide a safe place for my children, even before they are born, drives that home. Like a nail through my head.
I think identity comes over time, ever changing. Like you can have endless "soul mates", it's just a matter of who you are when you meet them. There may be the same core S inside me, but her context has changed. And so her expression and presentation and outlook have changed, too. I would like to think that I won't be forever...damaged or broken or sad or angry or unsure, but I just don't know. It's too soon to tell.
I think that the death of your child changes you forever. It tilts your reality in a different direction, and you are never again the same person you were the second before you saw the blood in your underwear on a routine bathroom visit, or heard the doctor telling you that your baby is "not viable", or seeing that tiny, still face and having to kiss that cheek for the last time. It leaves a raw, burning hole in your soul that may get smaller, but will never close. But that's just me.
I can't speak for anyone else, but I felt like I was taken up to the effing mother ship for three years after my son died.
I didn't recognize myself at all.
That was one of the hardest things, to feel so foreign in every aspect of my life. Slowly, slowly, I have been feeling more and more like "My old self" at the core, with a crapload of changes added. Still...It is more familiar to me than what I went through in those three years and I am grateful for it.
And?
I abhor the "About me's". I had several and I damned them to hell in my mind several times (Including a histrionic and self-absorbed relative who basically threw herself sobbing in hysteria on my son's casket.)
However, I also have a ton of sympathy and understanding for those who truly want to help but step in a pile of goo while trying. Because even though I have lost a child I find myself at a loss sometimes when faced with people grieving at that level and I HAVE LIVED IT.
So? For the most part I just try to see them as well meaning deep down (Some deeper than others) and not dwell.
Great post, as always, Julia, and such good questions. And you know I resent people who try to tell us how to bend or blow our nose when they know nothing about our grief; or when their biggest grief is not being able to shell out 500 bucks to pay for a photographer to shoot their son's first birthday pictures.
I think there was one moment when the world is changed forever, when I felt changed forever, but it took some time to figure out what is this new shape or form. And this "new" shape or form keeps shifting and changing too. There was a point when I felt defined by grief, felt that everything is referenced by my loss. I got tired by that. So, I am trying to integrate, and every second I am new. At least, I try to be new.
I had a friend tell me not to change too, needless to say she isn't a friend anymore. We made it about 12 months with mainly effort on my side, to have her end up blasting me for "being a different person". I actually see this as one of the ways grief changed my life for the better as I really got to know who my real friends were.
I haven't changed. Not even a little. But almost everyone around me is altered beyond all recognition.
I am still trying to figure out if the grief is defining me or not. I wonder if others look at me and see it in my face, the way I see it. I assume they don't. I wonder if I have changed - I feel I have changed, I know I've changed, I just wonder if anyone else sees it. I want them to see it and I don't want them to see it, who I am now. I alternately want to wear it on my sleeve and to hide it away, to tuck it up under my shirt and keep it safe for only me. And after four years, you'd think I would know by now, who the hell I am, does the grief show, am I different? And I don't really know.
Maybe none of that makes sense, but it's all I know.
Can we please get T-shirts that say "Check you shit at the door?"
This is obviously a theme with my in-laws, the usurping of my grief for their measures. Oh, and my neighbor too, who came to me screaming that I was mad at her and she wanted to do something. Huh. These people never cease to amaze me.
As for the changing: I think I have, but I would like not to for the worse over time. I've written this in someone else's comments before, but I'd like to get to the place where someone looks at me and says "Now I understand how you made it through that," not "Now I understand you." I'm obviously more pessimistic, more untrusting, less hopeful, less joyous. But it's my old friends cynacism, humor, sarcasm, sports, who've brought me through to this point -- hopefully they'll continue to do their jobs and carry me on until I integrate this tragedy into my life.
You know, incredibly, I'm with Niobe on this one.
I now have a much finer point on the little arrow that I would like to shoot my MIL with at times. She truly has no idea how her self-centeredness hurts me. I honestly think that she can't imagine it because she has no idea how to look at the world from someone else's point of view. I'm not even sure she knows that there are other points of view.