Blinded by a milestone
I had been really looking forward to the fourth of july party (which takes place on the fifth). It’s a yearly event at a friend’s place, a huge party with lots of food, drink, entertainment, a pool to swim in, and many friends. I have some vodka and kahlua left and I was eagerly looking forward to using it all up – and then some. And just having a good time. Out with the adults, forgetting my life.
Then yesterday Den mentioned offhand that SIL, BIL and BabyH would be there. I remember her mentioning two weeks ago that they were going to come. Usually I love seeing them.
But suddenly it all crashed down on me. This party, this big yearly event… I had been saying my entire pregnancy how this year we’d be bringing a baby. I was so excited. This was the year it was all going to be different… a family, with a little one to splash in the pool. I was so very excited to show him off and just enjoy a simple day out like I had been dreaming off for years. I had even mentally put aside an outfit for him – a gift outfit, which I wasn’t sure if he would fit into yet. A baseball outfit. Daddy’s All Star.
That won’t be happening now. SIL and BIL will have their new daughter to show off. Everyone will be ooing over the newborn. I can handle seeing them, I can handle seeing the baby, but I cannot handle seeing everyone fawn over the baby. That is absolutely the thing I have dreaded most about BabyH’s arrival, and why I timed our visits not to coincide with crowds. I can’t handle that, I just can’t.
The last party, a few weeks ago, we saw some friends of ours whom we haven’t seen in half a year. Friends who last saw me pregnant; friends who obviously knew what happened. But they didn’t say a word. Yes, they greeted me with, “How are ya?” which might have – or might not have – been an inquiry into my state of things. But it very likely was just the same greeting I get every time. And I know I shouldn’t blame people for not wanting to bring it up, but there is something so damn frustrating about having people KNOW and yet not acknowledge it. At that same party someone I barely know asked if we have any kids yet, and I quietly told him what had happened. He seemed quite upset, said he was sorry. Was it emotional to tell the story? Yes. But even that was easier than not having said anything at all.
I’m fine with answering direct questions, even ones from people who know nothing and are hardly expecting the kind of answer I give. But I guess I just don’t know how to bring it up. “Hi. Yes, my baby died, I’m okay talking about it,” seems a little… crude.
So I fell apart tonight a little. It all just came bubbling up from the depths, crying for what should have been. It’s been weeks since I really cried… I think I needed it. There’s only so much I can do just holding it together, getting through the daily shit. Some days, some nights, I just have to scream inside my head a little, wishing my life were different. I still find myself wishing fervently that we could go back and fix this… wishing I would wake up now. I’m supposed to be holding a baby with chubby little arms and legs, soft skin, downy hair. MY baby. My own. I’m supposed to be joyful and fulfilled. I am not supposed to be looking forward to a party so I can get drunk and forget all about the last shitty 4 months of my life.
It all just seems so fucking unfair I can’t even stand it. And it feels, too, like I’m dealing with two separate griefs piled on top of each other: the grief of having lost a son that I carried in my womb for 8 months, a boy with personality, a name, a future. And also the grief of this being another year of being childless, another year spent wondering if we are ever going to have this which we want so desperately. The loss and the infertility. I can handle either separately… but both together feels like far too much. Too much for any one person. I can deal with this loss if I knew I was going to be pregnant again soon, to have another chance… but there are no guarantees. Not for anyone, certainly not for an infertile.
Childless, not pregnant, and desperately missing my son. Happy July 4th to me.
((((hug for nat.))))
((((hug for Devin))))
Who is always near his mummy’s heart, and near mine.
This brought tears to my eyes. Sometimes I really can’t fathom how unfair life can be sometimes. I hate this for you.
I’m sorry about all the people who just want to ignore it. They don’t know what to say so they say nothing. But that doesn’t make it any less frustrating for you.
It’s weird isn’t it, how there are two separate griefs, yet they are intertwined somehow.
((hugs)) I’m sorry that the 4th brought up another broken dream for you.
*hug* Thinking of you. Love and hugs and the hopes that you survived yesterday with minimal damage.
I can relate to every single thing you said here. The party, the loss plus infertility, primary and secondary freaking losses. Other people getting to do what we should be doing.
It hurts so much.
And when people say “how are you?” there’s the trying to figure out/remember how much they know, how much to say. When I mention the loss, I always feel compelled to make others less uncomfortable, either by changing the subject or something else. I hate that.
It’s all so unfair.
My thoughts are with you.
wow, we hardly know each other but spent the 4th doing the EXACT same thing. I haven’t stopped crying since yesterday. i totally identify wiht virtually everything you’ve written.
i am terribly sorry for your loss.
Seeing people for the first time (it still happens, and we are coming up on 18 months now) is always hard for me. And if they don’t say anything, or clearly prefer to stay superficial, that always always upsets me. Do they think I forgot? Do they think I can forget? Chickenshits.
I hope you survived the party today.
{{{{hugggggggs}}}}
i needed to do that just now. if you were local, i’d bring you the bottle of sparkling wine my SIL gave me, and we could share sob stories. take care of yourself, every now and then a good cathartic episode is just what you need to be able to heal just a little more.
I’m sorry you’re still hurting – it’s not fair, any of it. That being said, what would you like them to say? What could they say that would be appropriate? If they bring it up – they are pouring salt in an open wound. If they don’t bring it up – they are thoughtless and ‘have forgotten about it’. I don’t think anyone has forgotten Devin. I’m just not sure what would be the best thing for your family and friends to say/do because they’re damned if they say something (mentioning him on a good day you’re having and risking spoiling your good mood) or damned if they don’t say something (you will be annoyed and assume that because they haven’t told you again how sorry they are that it’s happened, they have forgotten about Devin).
If I was faced in this situation – I’d hope that the person that was going through this terrible, terrible situation would bring it up if they wanted to talk about it. They would say, “The last time I saw you, I was still pregnant. I can’t believe how that’s changed”. I would hope that the person would start the open dialog with me, so I didn’t flounder in confusion whether I should mention it or not mention it.
It sucks, and yes it’s really unfair. No one pretends to be walking in your shoes in any way. It’s unfair too for everyone else who is stuck in the middle, not knowing how to act around you, and now realizing no matter how they act it is going to be the wrong thing.
I hope your 4th was better and that you managed to avoid the barbecue. It’s not right that you had to have something stolen away from you that you were so very looking forward to.
Chrissie, for me bringing up Devin doesn’t make me hurt unless I’m already hurting at the time. I definitely prefer people ask about him, talk about him. It helps me to talk. But maybe I’m unusual in that way…. I don’t know. Talking about him isn’t the hard part. But I totally get what you’re saying. It’s hard for people. And I need to learn to just bring him up when I need to.
it really sucks that not only do you “deal” with it but others are afraid of you. i remember feeling lik i had somehow contracted the dead baby disease. i wanted to wear a t-shirt that said “the only wrong thing you can say is nothing”