Beyond Mourning
There is a fabulous post on the Share blog about Grieving vs. Mourning. I highly recommend you read it.
It comes at an interesting time, seeing how I’ve spent a lot of time the last few months contemplating how okay I am. I can’t say that I am mourning anymore. Sad, yes. Missing Devin, yes. But I’m not mourning anymore. I don’t feel like walking around with what should be a black veil over my face, letting everyone know that someone in my life has died.
In so many ways I feel like Devin’s life and death has been processed and accepted. I long ago stopped waking up frantic and upset, keening inside over what I should have. And it’s this weird feeling, really, to be okay with something like that.
My process of mourning was so integral to where I am today, I am absolutely positive of it. Having that time off work, having that support of friends and family, being “allowed” by my social circle to grieve openly and honestly. People did not dismiss me, did not make me feel ashamed. They did not tell me I should move on sooner than I was ready. I wrote when I needed to write. I felt every emotion so clearly, so deeply – and I let myself hold on to it as long as I needed to. I felt sad for a long, long time. I cried in the car when certain songs came on that made me think, shit, my son is dead – even after a comfortable, productive day. I organized pictures and cataloged every piece of paper that had anything to do with Devin. I sorted through baby clothes even though the very thought of it made me weep. I bought ornaments and blankets and slept with a stuffed animal lovely, carefully held in my hands. I lived in grief. I accepted that.
Now I no longer do. I accept that too.
I can’t say exactly when it happened. I know it was after 6 months and before 18 months. After his first missed Christmas. Maybe his birthday was the closure for me – closure on that phase, at least. His birthday was hard, but not a punch in the gut, either. I look at the picture of me from that day and I see some light coming back into my eyes. I see the knowledge that I really would be okay.
18 months came and went and I didn’t even take a picture. I didn’t think of it. I did think about Devin that day, but no more than a brief passing, a silent acknowledgment.
::
Last friday a customer finally asked me if I was expecting. I said yes. She then asked the expected follow-up question: “Is this your first?”
I faltered for a second, let a moment of silence lapse. Even though I’ve been expecting this for months, I still had no idea how best to answer. It was a female who seemed honestly eager, so I hedged a little, but sketched a very rough picture of the truth. “Not my first pregnancy, no. But it hopefully will be our first child.” (I winced inwardly as it came out – that did not sound how I intended it. First live child, I meant. First baby at home.)
She looked puzzled. “Not your first pregnancy…?”
“We lost our first,” I explained quietly.
“Oh,” she said sadly. “I’m sorry. I lost my first pregnancy too.”
And then we moved into the “how exciting for this one” phase of the conversation.
Quite obviously I have to refine my technique. That did not come out the way I was hoping. It felt wrong to say this child will be our first – Devin was our first, and I don’t want to downplay or ignore that. I’m pretty sure she thought I meant I miscarried my first pregnancy – maybe it makes no difference to them, but it does to me. Devin was 4lbs 10.5oz, I birthed him. I can’t not acknowledge that out loud.
Afterward a coworker who overheard said to me, “You might not want to go down that road. You’ll get lots of questions.” And please realize here that she meant it might be difficult for me to explain the story ten times a day, over and over. I know what she means – and she’s not wrong, it will probably get very tiring. This is why I’ve been dreading this whole topic, this whole situation, with people who don’t know me – why I’ve been self-conscious and turning my belly away from customers until this point. Either way is going to be hard.
Telling everyone that this is my first would certainly make the conversations shorter, and spare them the sputtering. But what is best for me? Will I be okay with a couple hundred people believing that this baby is my only one, that I am – or should be – glowing and blissfully happy and naive? Will I be able to tolerate the well-meaning advice people constantly give first-timers? I’ve thought long and hard about it. And I don’t think I will be. It’s a game of pretend that I play now and again with a cashier, or a mechanic. It’s for a few brief minutes, and it always makes me feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin. It makes me uncomfortable. Then I picture myself wearing that facade for 8 hours a day at work. It makes me shudder a little.
I am okay with who I am. My first son died; my second child is on the way. It is terribly unfortunate that my story is not entirely a happy one, that my story is in large part tragedy. But it is what it is. If someone asks, well, that’s just the truth.
Couldn’t you just answer the question, “No, this is our second.” and leave it at that? If they want to continue down the road you could answer their follow up question with, “our son, Devin, was born still in 2008.” Not only does it recognize Devin, but it also shuts down a stranger asking incredibly personal questions.
I’m with Michelle… my patients ask all the time if I have children, and sometimes I just say “yes” and nothing more, and they just realize that I’m not willing to talk about my personal life. I’m not sure how to answer the question “is this your first” because that is certainly going to come quite often. I guess it’s just case by case. I can’t not mention my daughter outloud either. It definitely matters that she was 7lbs. 1oz. and not miscarried.
I think you’re doing great. Thanks for the post.
The way you answered that woman’s question is the same way I answered questions about my pregnancy with Lauren. It was difficult having to mention the miscarriage, but I found people were often sympathetic when I told them how I lost my first.
I’m happy that things are going well for you and hope that things will continue to go well. You’re in my prayers *HUGS*
I was cashiering at a Walmart while pregnant with Erin and got that all the time too. I couldn’t tolerate all the advice for first-timers either. I ended up refining it to “No, it’s not my first pregnancy but my first was stillborn so hopefully this will be my first living child.”
I, too, wanted to acknowledge it wasn’t a miscarriage. It’s so different, having been pregnant for 38 weeks and delivering her. Holding her. Seeing her face.
If I didn’t mention Cora right away though, they’d inevitably ask and it was even more awkward, so mentioning it stopped the questions before they got asked. Yes, it was hard saying that to every customer, but it was harder to pretend Cora didn’t exist.
Good luck figuring out what works for you.
I think it is quite possible that I would just say “this is our second” as well, but then again I think I know the questions you are dreading by saying that. Questions about the first, avoiding making people uncomfortable when you have to tell them that that first one is no longer here on this earth when they want to know how old the first is… I guess I do get the way you are doing it, you’re sourta avoiding all that. I don’t think you should have to live with any anxiety though about what to tell people. Just say whatever feels comfortable to you. If it makes them uncomfortable, ultimately that is their problem. I understand it might be hard for people who live in their world of “babies don’t die”. I guess I don’t even understand that world of naiveness due to my experiencing the loss of one of my friend’s daughter, the first person I was ever so very close to during their entire pregnancy. Her daughter passed a few days after birth so I’ve always lived in this world of anxiousness with any person close to me that has gotten pregnant of… just let this baby get here for them safely, knowing the sadness that could happen.
I’m glad your life doesn’t feel shrouded by grief anymore. It is strange how that happens… just a slow process that only happens day by day, we don’t even know when it will end, but it does. You’ve gone on and lived your life with such purpose & intent after such a tragic loss. I still find your strength so amazing and inspiring. I’m so glad to know such an inspirational person!
When I was asked if Jack was my first, I always told them “Third pregnancy, 1st baby.” Maybe something along the lines of “He will be my 2nd. His big brother was born sleeping in 2008”? It’s relatively quick and will tell them all they need to know.
Michelle – I tried that with strangers, or at least a variation of it, but, as Brittanie mentioned, that almost ALWAYS led to, “OH, so how old is your first?? They will be so excited!” Which to me is more awkward. So IF the topic is brought up by them I tend to tell it all straight out to forestall that one.
When they ask if it is your first, people are often trying to assess whether you’re adding to a sibling group because that will cause jealousy/be more work/be exciting. I think you’re more likely to get awkward follow up questions if you say this is your second.
Of course, I also totally understand wanting to acknowledge that this is not your first. Actually, I think it’s important to say these things out loud. Miscarriage is so common. And many women know the pain of a stillborn child. I wouldn’t worry about making other people uncomfortable. If they’re going to ask a question like that, they deserve an honest answer. Either they will be sympathetic to you or they will learn not to ask questions like that or they’ll feel awkward and uncomfortable, which might be what they need.
I don’t mean deserve in that you’d be doing something wrong to just say yes, this is my first and go about your business. I mean I’d worry about you first and let people who ask questions like that have whatever answer you feel like giving. And if you’re up to it, telling them the truth might be good for them.
Just wanted to clarify–what is best for you comes first.
i feel compelled to comment… although i don’t know what you are going through, i often experience a similar situation. both of my parents died in a car accident when i was 19 and in soo many situations it comes up, like when i was picking up pictures and the lady was like, “oh your mom is going to love this one” or “what did your dad say about it?” … and then there is that awkward pause; do i tell them or do i not? i mean… i want to acknowledge them, they were the most amazing people in my life. i feel that not saying anything at all is a lie, but then i get the awkward “oh i’m sorry” and silence, which i hate. so more often than not if it’s something fast i’ll just say oh yeah i know she will then leave, as my heart slowly breaks all over again. cause in my heart, i know that they know i love them and acknowledge them. now if we are sitting down to get taxes done or if i’m meeting a new co-worker, or if it’s something long term i will say something if it’s brought up. cause the worst feeling is having it brought up over and over again, knowing it’s not the truth… i used to hold it in all the time then go home and cry for hours, so now i use that guideline as to whether i say something or not. if i’ll never see the person again, i just make something up but if i’m going to talking to them/knowing them for a while, i come out with it so everyone knows and so i can avoid awkward situations in the future. i feel better telling people though, it takes a lot of anxiety off of me when people know cause i know they aren’t going to bring up the fact that i don’t have parents.
i know it’s not the same at all, a loss of parents is a very different loss than that of a child. but when you describe that pause feeling it rings home for me. it’s just so hard cause i think most people who have never had a big loss like that assume that everyone is like them… everyone has parents, everyone has live children, etc. and i used to do that, but now i don’t assume anything about anybody, as i’m sure you don’t either.
i know this doesn’t help you at all… i guess my response is it depends on the situation. i don’t mind talking about them at all, it’s just the anxiety i have over what to say when it gets brought up that i have a hard time dealing with. i just wanted to give big hugs and say thank you for your post… i feel a little less alone now cause i thought i was the only one who felt that way.
nat,
it’s always a bit difficult to decide what to say, especially when you don’t know the person who is asking the question. you think…”does she REALLY want to know or do i just nod?” and then there is, like you said, the thought that no–i have another child i gave birth to him, i held him, he was and is my child. but you will figure it out and Devin will always be there.
I’m now 30 weeks pregnant after my first daughter was full term stillborn last January. Depending on the way the question is worded, I’ve settled on a varient of “Not my first pregnancy, but no living children” if I’ll ever see the person again. If I won’t see them again, I’ve just answered “Yes” when I get asked if it’s my first. A bit of a cop-out, but what I’ve decided I’m comfortable with.
I know it’s going to be so hard, for many of us, to answer THAT question. What IF I get pregnant this month or in the months to come? When I tell people, how will I respond? I have had four pregnancies and no children. Three miscarriages and gave birth to a daughter in July. I think it’s going to be hard no matter what. When this baby is born, and people who don’t know ask if you have anymore…what do you say? It’s just so hard. I really don’t even know how I am going to answer that.