Duty
People have stepped on my toes before. Many have done so and walked on by. Whatever-- people are self-absorbed, I know, and I try not to take it hard. I am OK at it, I like to think. You forget how much work I did on this one project last year? Harrumph, of course, but I'll deal. An extra latte, perhaps. Oh, yes-- just the thing. In fact, I discovered, that extra latte is a cure for great many things, people being inconsiderate prominent among them.
Except. Except when they are being inconsiderate about my dead baby. Scratch that. Not all people-- most people, people who don't know, who are just randomly passing by, who know me, but not well,-- from them it will sting, sometimes a lot, but it won't sear. They, I reason, do not owe me consideration. Not any more than any random person. And though I, myself, may aim for considerate at all times, I know that not to be everyone's standard. And so I don't hold most people to mine.
I watched the pilot of The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency this spring purely on the strength of the previews. I stayed for the series because I liked the pilot. And because the main character, Mma Ramotswe, is a dead baby mom. They might've laid it on a bit thick in the first episode with a violent flashback (not that there aren't things to have violent flashbacks about in her particular dead baby story-- more like that the one they picked for a flashback isn't entirely believable), but from then on I really liked how they handled that part of her story. It's in every episode, and only occasionally overtly.
Most of the time it's something that I bet many a viewer won't even pick up on. It's subtly written, and subtly played. But if you know, if you've heard these things yourself, you can see it, plain as day. Like the time when a client of her detective agency, not thinking much of her suggestion that perhaps it wouldn't be a good idea to hire a detective to spy on his 16 year old daughter, tells her that she, as a childless woman, must take his word for what's the right thing to do there. Mma Ramotswe doesn't say a thing, but-- and this one goes to how good an actress Jill Scott is,-- you can see just where that hits her.
In the show, as in life, the context is everything. Mma Ramotswe tells another client, a woman looking for a son she believes probably died in Africa many years ago. But not this man, because, and we all know it, it wouldn't make a difference to him where his daughter and the need to spy on her is concerned. Besides, perhaps this is not the type of man you want to trust with that most sensitive of personal information, and likely not something you want him to know in a professional context anyway.
So context. Context is what I've been thinking about. When it's a friend who steps on my dead baby toes, or, as I tried to explain to a group of friends recently, when it's friend who hits my open compound fracture, the existence of which fracture is something the friend in question is most certainly aware of, that's not something I can just latte away. But it is, for me, something that can be reasonably turned into the proverbial water under the proverbial bridge with a simple and direct "I am sorry."
What has me bewildered even now, more than two weeks after that conversation, is the statment by another in our group of friends, that she thinks we must consider other's feelings in how we react to what people say. As in, don't make a scene. You know, don't you, that people don't mean to be hurtful, and therefore, even if you did point at your compound fracture and wince in a way that should've suggested to the person continuing to hit that very spot, that perhaps it would be best to stop now, you shoudn't, before hightailing it outta there, finally raise your voice to suggest that the person stop-bleeping-hitting already.
I guess a more accurate description is that I am by turn bewildered and infuriated, and working hard to stay with the bewildered (because infuriated may end up fracturing the group). Because you know what? I don't think we have a duty to be nice to people hitting us where it hurts. We might, as Mma Ramotswe does, not want to say anything, either in a particular situation or at all. We might not want to be party poopers, or we might not feel up to talking just then, or, indeed, ever. For our own reasons we might choose not to speak up. But what gets me is the suggestion that we ought not to, or that if we do, we be super extra tripple nice about it.
I do not believe we owe it to anyone to keep quiet. (I'll go further-- some of the shit people say, they really should feel bad about.) I don't think the one in pain should also be responsible for gracefully articulating where and exactly how much it hurts. Luckily for me, most of my friends don't think that either.
And what do you think? What do we owe those who are hurting us with their words? Does it matter if they are friends or random passers by? What, if anything, do you think people owe us?
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This is what my best girl-friend said to me. That "everyone gets their share at some stage". And "deal with it".
She wrote it to me in an email after I lost my second child. She didn't understand why I was upset with her in the first place, and she didn't understand why I was more upset with her when she wrote that.
When my first child died, I tried very hard not to "upset" people. After all, it must have been very upsetting to them that MY CHILD DIED.
But it didn't seem to matter how much I tried, nothing I did stopped them from getting upset.
And when my second child died, I stopped trying. In fact, I tried a new approach. I started expecting people not to upset me.
Ha ... it didn't work. As you can see from the wise words above. That was my friend. My so-called best friend. We're not friends any more.
There is only one thing that people can do for my dead children, and that's be considerate and show some respect. And most of them can't even do that.
For me, it comes down to people I had high expectations of and people I had low expectations of. Some of those people I had low expectations of said stupid/hurtful things, but I brushed it off, as I never expected much from then anyway. In many instances, I never even pulled them up on it as I figured they would just Never. Get. It. But it is those I have had high expectaions of, some of whom I thought were my nearest and dearest who have hurt me the most with some of the things they've said or done.
I wish I could learn to rise above, bite my tongue and just move on - as I'm ALWAYS being told "but Sally people don't mean to hurt you, they just don't know what to say and they always have you best interests at heart" but that doesn't mean things said still can't hurt. I think by speaking up, it can only eventually improve things and help to lift the silence on all our devasting losses. Either that, or people now just have me pigeon holed as "the lady with the dead baby gone crazy with her grief" meaning soon I'll have far less Christmas cards to send out....
http://faradaysgarden.wordpress.com/2009/08/05/buttons/
Put simply, I think the people who hurt me with their thoughtless words deserve to know what they are doing. I am sick of making excuses for other people's poor behaviour and insensitivities. As far as I'm concerned they can take a hike if they can't accept being told when they are being prats. Friends like that I don't need.
so i say what i need to say (my baby died) and they, i hope, do the same. most of the time they don't out of fear...but i wish they did. i'd rather be at odds of opinion then not get to talka bout it at all past "i'm so sorry." fuck "sorry." maybe i just want to get down and dirty sometimes, even with a jackass.
As for considering the feelings of friends, I have landed on the "people do the best they can with what they have". We are, by our very nature, imperfect. I think you can stand up for yourself, with a quiet, direct, that was hurtful, and still respect that people don't mean to hurt you.
I have a confession. I have a coworker who has said numerous times, "How many of those blobs do you have?" By "blobs" he means children. And in all the time I've worked with him, I have never told him. I just don't respond. I am over two years out from our loss and I started this job after it all happened. I haven't said anything because I don't want to meet his thoughtless joke with honesty and because I am tired of having to meet the fear and cowardice in people's eyes. I feel as though I can shrug off the comments. For me, what hurts is being avoided.
Really, I think that what people owe us is to not put themselves first. And this is a very hard thing to ask sometimes, but when people do it I feel like I can breathe easier, be more honest and authentic. I feel like my son matters.
Nodding. As you know Julia I've been thinking deeply on this - the expression of grief both on the internet and in everyday life, and how that expression is received. And so this has me all bubbling and stewing and thank you for that.
Just re-drafting my drafted post right now, and so I'll save my response for that. But I just wanted to say a huge thank-you. Beautifully put.
I've been baffled too by this unspoken(but rigorously enforced) rule that dictates that if I am being hurt, I am required to take care of the feelings of the one who is hurting me. I am supposed to protect them from the knowledge that their behavior has in any way been inconsiderate.
When someone calls to my attention that something I have said has hurt them, my own heart's logic naturally leads me to say that I am sorry, because it horrifies me to be the instrument of someone I care for's pain. And yes, a heartfelt expression of remorse DOES turn an incident into 'water under the bridge'. Why is that so hard for someone to do?
To answer my own rhetorical question (I've spent literally years thinking about this), I think that we humans have been so deeply shamed in the shaping of our characters that a hint that we have 'failed' in some way spirals us into feelings of such worthlessness that we are unable to display the remorse that is the combination to the door to forgiveness. Instead we become angry at the person who had the bad manners to be hurt by us. And thus we miss the opportunity for healing and are left with the bitter choice of trying to suppress the awareness of the wound, or having to stop seeing the other person altogether.
Your situation with your friends has gotten more complicated. There is the person who was hurting you in the first place, and now there is the other friend who has spoken on behalf of the rule. It's the rule that's threatening to fracture your group, not your fury.
I'm trying to avoid the response: "Niobe is always so irrational and sensitive and gets offended at everything. I can't say anything to her without her freaking out" and inspire something more along the lines of silent reflection "Wow, maybe I could have worded that better"
YMMV, but I've found that, as they say, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. If, that is, you have some reason for wanting to catch flies at all.
me: "did you hear about the Mr. X's son?"
friend: "hmmph. yeah. well, that's what you get."
me: "excuse me? i don't follow..."
friend: "well, he was a terrible husband to wife #1. threw her out and called her a 'barren bag of bones' when she couldn't have kids. so he found himself a new, plump wife who could procreate. now his kid's dead. that's what you get. karma's a bitch.
i didn't say anything. i should have.
i wonder -- what does she think I did to deserve having a dead kid?
1. feel like they are minimizing my loss. even though there is no way to acknowledge it that would be enough or right in my mind.
2. or feel like they are going to be bringing it up; waiting with baited breath for the comment about their cousin/friend/aunt that went through the same thing.
3. or be watching for "that look" in their eyes whenever we are having a conversation.
that sounds callous to me---- it sounds to me like I am wanting to move on without my child. and that isn't it. I don't know what "it" is, but it isn't that.
what is hard for me is being around extended family. I always, always, always feel like in the back of their mind they are remembering. and of course I am remembering. and nobody knows what to say about it.
kind of like the massive mistake I made with telling my parents all about it one time when my spouse and I were having problems. THAT was a mistake. Because they will never forget it and never get over it, and it is always the elephant in the room. How disappointed and hurt they are by him.
Now, I just keep it to myself.
Erica, I do agree that a whole lot of this is about comforting themselves, or, as excavator points out, about the inability and the shame of being wrong. This is not a fucking math class, people. It's ok to say "I was wrong and I am sorry." I am pretty sure your tongue won't break if you say that.
Niobe, I try for that too, most of the time. Or I try to try. In that particular case I tried to provide an opportunity for the person to say "I am sorry" and move on. It didn't happen, and then I felt like I really needed to leave the room.
m., I don't think it's callous. I read it as you knowing the place your child holds in your heart, and not wanting to provide others with opportunities to not do that place and your child justice. I think that's confidence, in not needing others to validate your child's worth. But also, perhaps, realism, in knowing that people would likely disappoint if given a chance? I actually don't tend to bring up my son with new acquaintances either, unless it becomes relevant at some point. But friends in question here are friends who were there at the beginning, from whom I guess I expected more.
For me, in mourning my daughter, for so long I could only see my pain, was convinced that my pain was always the worst in the room. 20 years on, I've been humbled by finding out in retrospect about others pain that I missed, that i minimized in my own pain.
I have one child, a son. It's been a long, hard, painful journey to accept that he will never siblings, that I will never see that, that he and his sister will never be on this Earth at the same time. But somehow, at some point, my anger turned to pity and then to forgiveness. I'm not explaining myself well and I apologize for that.
Like others here, my action or non action has been as varied as the people and situations with which I have been presented, to date. I willingly and lovingly one such here, with those who will 'get it'.... Yes, how much the other person has meant to me and the day to day relationship I share with that person has strongly influenced my choice of action or not.
I work as a Registered Nurse, in the Community, in the field of homelessness and mental health. This involves alot of contact with others in the mental health field and, by nature of their charity work, many from a variety of religious denominations. Whilst myself and my husband are blessed to hold deep running spiritual beliefs, they are not founded in one religion but hold many parellels with Christianity. Having returned back to work 3 months after losing Jasmine, amongst many people I have had to revisit and face, one is a Pastor, whom I shall call Tom. (not sure as to my motives for keeping his anonymity but I will anyway). My relationship with Tom is through work at a venue which provides free food and Christian sermons, to those homeless or in hardship. Therefore I am witness to Tom standing before the mulitudes and openly preaching of faith, love, Jesus Christ and 'being there' for those who come to his venue. In other words, overtly clear in the place he stands with regards to love, life, the universe and anyone willing!
Having encountered many conversations with Tom in the build up to our wedding last year and Jasmine this year I was profoundly struck by 'Tom's silence', the first 3 times I met him when returning to work. His first words to me, as he patted me on the back were, 'you're back regularly now are you?'. I responded, with a smile - 'yes I am back mow'. that was it!!! Following the next 2 shallow interactions in which Jasmine or myself were not even mentioned, iIfound myself feeling increasingly hurt and then angry at the fucking hypocritical Christians, who I may add did not stand on their own in this ever increasing list of mine! HOW COULD HE STAND THERE, LITERALLY STAND THERE, in that place, and not even come anywhere close to asking me, 'so how are you since your daughter died?. For Fuck's sake, I thought - and many more alike!! So on my fourth meeting with Tom, having whirled this one around and verbalised the idea with my therapist, I dug deep and pulled on the courage of Jasmine.
I requested a few minutes with Tom, to talk about something personal, not work related, and in private. I had already taken breaths and thought through the context of my approach (there we go, the context and responsibility). By now I knew that my questions to Tom where not just of him, but of the majority of those I work with in the 'caring profession!'. The fact that he was a Pastor and all that respresents, I think was the reason I felt able to approach him in a depth of honesty that was necessary for me.
I initailly tended to mother and nuture' Tom as I attempted to express my need to ask him some questions, mindful that this was not meant to be a 'finger pointing' exercise and that my wish was that he may take this as a compliment that I had thought of him as the first person with whom I felt able to speak so directly. I found myself being concerned that he would not feel hurt!. I asked Tom 'what is it in you that has stopped you from asking me how I am since my daughter died?'. I confirmed, as I knew, that he was aware of Jasmine's death before popping the question.
Tom's response was initally one of silence in which he altered his physical position to appear more attentive to me. His in breaths were noticable and his eyes welled with tears when he spoke. He spoke of recognising that he had treated me with a 'professional distance' since my return and reflected on the content of our past conversations in relation to my wedding and pregnancy. He spoke of his own sense of inadequacy (my words, not his exactly!) in not knowing what to say and if he should say something to upset me, what would he do then? As he heard his own words, Tom acknowledged that now I had asked and he had thought about this, why would it matter if I did cry? That his concern was more about what would he do? I confirmed that he did not have such power, as did anyone, to upset me but that my sadness was already there because my daughter died..... And, in fact, if my tears came following the concerned words from another, it was actually a good thing as crying was helping my healing, confirmingm to me, that the inability of others to make meaningful contact, is not often about the parent who has lost but about the other person's feelings of lack or discomfort in the face of practically the most devastating event that human being has to bear. Tom thanked me for speaking with him and spoke of feeling challenged by himself and knowing that this was a catalyst for his own personal growth.
I also sopke of my fantasy that our conversation may help those who looked up to him, in training and his wider community as I felt I spoke for the majority of parents who had lost a baby - saying nothing, for me, has been the most hurtful and difficult experience, following the deep trauma of losing Jasmine and choosing to step back into life, on many levels. Tom immediately reflected on a woman, in his Church community, who lost a baby last year and had just has a live, healthy baby. He spoke of how he had not talked with her, of her loss, and he could see this now...... Since our chat, I have seen Tom twice, and I feel there is now an unspoken depth to our relationship, with allows the joining, through the expression of enotions, when/if felt. This does not mean we have deep and meaningfuls at every contact but he calls me sunshine and really asks 'how are you' and I am very interested about his week also. For this is not all about me, but originates there and from my daughter which is one of many examples I am choosing to name as 'Jasmine's Flowers' - the name for my soon to be formed, BLOG!! In this case, it needed to be me who stepped up and whilst I experience much added sadness in the loss of relationships through the loss of my daughter, opportunities arise for new relationships. Some with those we already know and some still to be met - not that I would choose this path in any shaoe or form, but I choose to live in gentle reality these days, sensitive beyond words, at times, to the harshness of reality too. Thank you so much for your community and my belonging.xxx
I'm sorry that you had to experience the loss of Jasmine. But I'm happy for you that you're writing. When you're all set up, be sure to add yourself to our blogroll, okay? Much love to you.
Unfortunately these attributes often make me a door mat.
When people steer that dagger into my baby loss mama heart I usually just get very hurt but I don't say much about it. My job to be understanding and let it go.
That said, before I lost my first baby, before Indigo died. I know I was that person that said incredibly hurtful and ignorant things. If I think they are just ignorant, I try and give them the benefit of the doubt. When the same jabs come from other baby loss mamas, it is harder. But I don't think I ever handle it really well.
I'm so sorry for the loss of your Jasmine, Dawn.