I heard the news today, oh boy
My baby died.
Our lives entered some state of suspension, bits of grief floating in gelatin, still, timeless.
Everyone else, though, rushed -- and rushes -- on. Breathless. And there is news.
I suppose in the old state, there was good news and bad news, but filtered through the prism of Maddy, the news onslaught all seems painfully blinding. The good reminds me of what I am not, what I lack, what I was. The bad piles on, pours salt in the wound, kicks me while down. All news hurts because it means time progresses, the earth continues it's orbit, while ours sits stagnant. Others actually have news while our news remains the same, day after day, week after week, month after month. My baby died. Our child died. There is nothing else to report.
Anonymous events filter in: typhoons, random accidents turned fatal, economic shit storms, another soldier killed by a roadside bomb. This celebrity is pregnant, that celebrity had twins, yet another lost all her pregnancy weight in two months. A great new movie, a shiny new car, a championship won, a true love uncovered. Headlines can be scanned and papers recycled, televisions muted, and websites clicked off.
But the news of family and friends is not so easily negated with a remote. There are pregnancies and births, weddings and divorces. Someone discovers cancer, someone wins a three-week vacation. An elderly relative dies, a friend adopts a puppy. Someone loses a job, someone crashes a car, and lo! Someone lands on their feet -- walks away unscathed, and starts the employment of a lifetime with a corner office a week later.
Somehow, it's all a punch in the gut.
Herein lies the conundrum: if all news hurts to some extent, do I want to hear about it? And if so, how exactly do I want to hear about it? And what does my current state of griefdom mean to the messenger?
Because unlike black and white type on paper or a stately correspondent talking in a flat voice, this type of news is typically told to us, orally or in writing, directly from someone else -- someone with a link to us, someone who knows. I wonder, how hard is it for someone else, someone not in our immediate situation, to tell us their news? To tell us of someone else's news? Because we're not the same anymore -- we're different. There's a fine line somewhere in there between "Please don't forget my child, please be gentle when you tell me" and "Please don't treat me like I'm fucking batshit." And perhaps I should give people more slack in the line when they're hemming and hawing and running through how exactly to word what it is they're about to say given our new status, but part of me thinks . . . is it really so hard?
Because sometimes instead of just coming out with it, people decide it's easier not to tell you at all. It's easier for them. There is no awkward moment, no watching you break down into tears. No need to remember that horrible awful thing that happened or even bring it up peripherally. And I suppose to convince themselves of their righteousness on this point, they assume that you're fragile, weak, sensitive, outright crazyloco. Can't handle it. Maybe they think they're doing you a favor by not saying anything! This is helpful! Aren't they being wonderfully in touch with your needs!
What news are you being deprived of? Are you sure you know everything that's going on? Are you being apprised?
Because in the end, we found out. And discovered that everyone had run circles around us for the better part of a year. And now it's not the news itself that hurts me -- oh no. It's the realization that everyone thinks I'm bananas, and can't deal with other people's lives. It's also the realization that people around me don't care enough about me or the reason behind the new me to be uncomfortable for a few minutes. To take a risk that I might sniffle and need a kleenex. That I won't heed the warning not to harm the messenger. It's the understanding that Maddy is an inconvenience to them -- that I am an inconvenience to them, and why would I want to continue in their presence if they feel they can't freely speak about their news? The way their time is flying by and events are occurring at breakneck speed? None of it is possible if I'm in the room with my big technicolor elephant at my side.
How hard is it really, to just begin a sentence: "I need to tell you something. It may hurt to hear it, and for that I'm sorry, and I understand how it could -- but I didn't want you not to know."
We found out about the pregnancy, after the birth. And truth be told, the idea of a healthy newborn doesn't hit me nearly as hard (if it does at all, anymore) as the idea that I am a pariah, a leper, a fragile freak. Maddy is nothing more than an annoyance, my grief a nuisance in the daily ongoing of hands moving around the clock. It is easier, not to speak with me, not to bring It (capital I) up. Two and half years later, I am once again alone, sitting arms akimbo in my still pool of gelatin, while time whizzes by -- this time laughing, pointing, and gawking at me.
Have you discovered family and friends hiding news from you after your loss? How did it make you feel, and how did you deal with it? When family and friends delivered significant news that might effect you differently now, how did they do it? How and what do you want to be told -- if at all?
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I'm a bit regretful that it probably hurts some of my family and friends that I don't want to hear their news or tell them mine. But not enough to do anything about it.
Yesterday browsing updates on Facebook I found out a distant friend who lives in another state is 36 weeks pregnant. It's only a little weird that I didn't know before now, but still weird. Nothing from her. Nothing from our common friend. Probably just slipped their minds to actually tell me. But still... I wonder if at some point it crossed their mind to tell me, and they decided not to, because they thought it might hurt. Because we lost Tikva. Because we want to be pregnant again. It was strange to find out so late in the game...
I sent her good wishes in a Facebook comment to her update. Strange.
And instead of compassion and understanding I was expected to give that compassion and understanding. "Surely you must understand why so and so wants to talk endlessly about her pregnancy to you." "Surely you must understand why they don't want to hear about your (dead daughter) loss.
And again screaming in my head was "No, I don't understand. I don't understand at all. I don't understand why my baby died. And I don't understand why no one wants to hear about her. And I don't understand why I have to listen to your happy, joyfeul news when my baby is dead."
I am sure people tip toe around me. But I've become very good at putting on a smile to the world and crying in my shower at night when the house is dark.
I'll never forget it, and I'll always know that if we were as good of friends as I thought we were, they never would have done that. It absolutely sucks that people treat us differently b/c of what we've been through. I hate feeling like a leper amongst friends. But what I hate more is that people feel that way not because of anything we've said or done, they feel that way because of their own inability to deal with our pain. I see it as their shortcoming, not ours.
I feel like the world's biggest shit about this. My darling nieces, who were probably out of their minds with excitement, kept this secret while talking to me at least 3 or 4 times a week for 6-odd months.
It's touching and a little depressing to receive little kid sympathy.
But I had - have - so many of the same thoughts that you voice here - why didn't they ask me how I felt about any of this before thrusting a baby in my face? She was sweet and delightful and *alive,* but she wasn't the baby I wanted and needed to hold four months after my loss. And I could have told them that, reasonably and even gently, if they'd asked. But they didn't want the discomfort of asking.
But should I? Should I let those comments drag me back into the muck when I'm having a day when I feel normal?
Maybe I'll just make a sign. It'd make it all so much easier.
babies being born have been hid from me, lots of details that i shouldn't be told. but i am curious and want to know. but when i find out, i lose it most of the time.
great post tash- its definitely stuff i'm feeling right now- very deep. i know people shelter me from everything- but i have that need to know everything disease and it doesn't serve me well most of the time.
it always hurts not to be told for exactly the reasons you state -- that people who are supposed to care about us would rather talk about our losses behind our backs than with us is just hurtful. as if it would "remind" or "upset" us. like I need a freaking reminder.
with my infertility the announcements are always an issue among my family and friends, it seems. it sucks to think that someone could have a thought but either not care enough to express it or more likely just want to avoid any discomfort on THEIR part.
In fact, the baby is seven months old and there are friends who live in other cities who probably have no idea that he even exists, because I certainly haven't told them about him, though we've talked or emailed about other things.
I didn't really care what they thought, because I'm selfish and self-centered like that. But, for those of you who feel hurt by people hiding baby-related news, should I have acted differently? Or does the fact that I lost the twins make it okay for me to conceal news of a subsequent pregnancy/baby?
I think there are some profound differences here: There's not telling because you're fearful, because you want to control information and receive acceptance of your pregnancy on your terms (for example, not deal with goofy congratulations, or family members that will question your sanity on trying again, or people you know will assume now you're "healed" and that obviously things won't go to hell a second/third/(fourth?) time), and you don't want to carry others along for the emotional ride when you're having enough time keeping your own seatbelt fastened.
(In fact, I thought when Mr. ABF first told me this news, that they hadn't told anyone beyond immediate because things were dicey or going poorly, or were waiting until after the big anatomy scan, and for a few seconds I thought the baby died. I resent feeling that way now that I know this wasn't the case, and I'd like those few seconds back.)
I also feel there's telling immediate family or waiting until your showing, or whatever, and then there's "Everyone can know EXCEPT X." Thing was, we were the only people that didn't know. And you know damn well why we didn't know and weren't allowed this information. As you've stated, you kept it from everyone. I think these are pretty different things, and done for completely different reasons.
My sister and I are close and it breaks my heart as we wait for her to deliver in a few weeks. But I can't imagine if she had come and tell me she was pregnant after my loss...And to be honest, I have avoided all of my friends who I know want to avoid me for one reason or another, or don't want to deal with my grief...like I have done them a favor, and it makes me feel that much better.
The sadness isn't always there, but the "what-ifs are a killer.
I can't think of a case where information was withheld. If anything people will blather on about pregnacies & babies without much apparent thought given to our possible discomfort.
I do remember sitting at my cubicle one day, several months after returning to work, & hearing a baby faintly crying. I was starting to think I was going nuts, & finally I asked one of my coworkers if I was hearing things or was there a baby in the office. She got a funny look on her face & said, "Kim brought her baby in to visit. We didn't know if we should tell you." Well, DUH. I escaped out the side door & went for a LONG coffee break!
And then there was the infamous Christmas party, at which the same woman came with the same baby, who was one month older than my daughter would have been. Nobody thought to tell me she was coming (let alone bringing her baby) (to a bar -- in the dead of winter??!) & it was like getting a sucker punch in the gut. It was a disastrous evening all round, & I've never felt quite the same about office parties ever since then. I wrote about it here:
http://theroadlesstravelledlb.blogspot.com/2007/12/worst-christmas-party-ever.html
But one of the things that struck me here was the statement about the balance between being gentle and treating me like I'm crazy. I think a lot of my friends have tried hard. Not always perfect, but have tried. Six more babies will be born before we hit Gabriel's due date (one arrived two weeks ago), so it's difficult to avoid the pregnancy talk. One group of friends even offered to title/tag any email or post related to baby and even offered to tag it with an * if seeing the word baby would be too hard. Sweet, but unnecessary. But then there are those days where I just want to shriek a little because really? This complaint about your coworker (or whatever) matters? Ugh.
The hard thing is dealing with other people's discomfort. I always want to make people more comfortable and make it all less awkward. So I find myself chirping at work that 'I'm just fine, thanks! Oh, yes, well it was all very sad. Oh, no we don't need to talk to about it.' (in my head I'm crying that I am desperate to talk about it). I've let the awful comments go (it wasn't meant to be, you're young! you can have more!, oh, well, when you get a healthy one, it'll stick!) with little more than a forced smile because of the awkwardness. I know I've apologized for getting teary and apologized for bringing it up at all. . . when, hell, he was my son! Not something that should be shunted aside and ignored because it might make me sad!
It makes me feel a little schizophrenic. My gut reaction is to make it easier for others, but the mama lion in me rears up and gets very angry when my son is made out to be a taboo topic or inconvenience. At the same time. . . I know it's hard for my friends. The friend who had the baby two weeks ago? She's having a hard time. Not complaining to me! but I found out that she's having trouble - can't drive yet, is being left on her own a lot, no one to help with the laundry, no hot food, etc. I knew, when I found out, that I had to offer to help. Because I'm closest and she's in a tough spot, and ffs, she offered to come sit with me in the hospital while in early labor if I needed company. I got clammy and sweaty and panicky at the thought of seeing her baby in person (I had looked at pictures), but I offered to come out and bring food or do whatever anyhow. And dear God was I grateful when she declined and told me to worry about taking care of myself and NOT them.
I hate feeling that way, and feeling that fragile and giving that ammunition.
And I have yet to have pregnant friends look at me in fear of dead baby flu, but I certainly have seen the fear of bad luck contamination in acquaintances and coworkers. There were people in my office who did not look at me or speak to me - I mean even a general greeting when we passed in the hallway - for over a week when I returned. I even watched one woman change direction. Talk about feeling like a freak or a pariah. I don't condone it or like it, but I get it when someone doesn't want to bring up the baby or acknowledge Gabriel's existence (I'm still not sure who knows it was a boy and that his name is Gabriel). But to not even give a common courtesy of a 'hello' or 'good morning'? WTH? It's really not contagious, people. Act like a decent human being.
Please take this respectfully and from where it comes – I am just trying to spark some thought. I cringe as I ask this but...might you have had any part in this? Are you now or have you in the past been sending out signals or even clearly saying things that tell people (or that SEEM to tell people) "I DON'T WANNA KNOW YOUR HAPPY NEWS"? Whatever it is.
Could it be that they thought time helps (NEVER heals) and that the more distance the better cause you seemed like you did not want to know? Maybe they thought they were sparing you the stress of awaiting the outcome. Also, is it possible that MR. ABF told people, either directly or indirectly, that you did not want to hear such news as a way to protect you? Maybe he or someone else in your inner circle told one person that was the case early on, even in passing, and everyone is STILL heeding it thinking they are doing the right thing and respecting your wishes since no other wished have been reported to them. The truth is I cannot know what they thought but neither should you assume the worst. Have you asked why? Did you acknowledge the baby? That would show EVERYONE that you have new feelings and no longer feel like “DON’T TELL ME YOUR HAPPY NEWS”. Maybe it would even open a dialogue between you and them. Assuming the worst closes off communicaiton and will not make the realtionship better.
Again, please take this respectfully, I have read most if not all of your writings here and in your "Awful" blog. I recall there were 2 close relatives who were pregnant at the time of your horrific loss. I recall you wanted NOTHING to do with them or their babies even after they were born. Is that a big enough sign to give people an impression of what you want even now? Maybe something changed for you. They may not know it if you did not tell them. They may be hesitant to make any assumptions for fear of hurting you or setting you back – not to avoid being there for you.
Step back for a moment. Can it be that your are surrounded by ALL monsters who would rather consipre behind your back to hurt you? Is that possible? Or are people just unsure of what to do?
In any event, can you really be mad at anyone but the 2 who had the baby? It would seem that it is not anyone else's place to tell anyone that pair's news. And should you first inquire about why they did what they did before you just decide to be angry and make assumptions?
I fear there are too many mixed signals. Too many ways for people to fear hurting someone they love. And in such an environment, can it be expected that someone not in your inner circle would do anything other than to go with whatever signal seemed the loudest?
All that said, I have grown to truly enjoy and look forward to your writings. I have learned a lot. Thank you.