So that’s just a warning for any of my real friends reading this. By all means ask, but only if you feel strong enough for the truth.
And the truth is, I’m awful. I simply do not know how I could be any other way. It has been three months, three months when I have the rest of my life to process this great loss.
But this doesn’t mean I sit around all day thinking about slitting my wrists or in a pool of my own tears (although sometimes I do, the tears that is, the tears).
Most of the time, if you were a fly on the wall at our empty little home, you’d see a madly in love couple, going about their daily lives with laughter and smiles. We cook, we eat, we play with the dog, we listen to music and we watch The A.mazing Race (love that show).
I just can’t keep up appearances for everyone else though. And if you ask me how I am, I’m going to tell the truth.
Problem being, when I tell a lot of people how I am, they run for the hills.
“We’re just trying to give you space.” Crap. “We don’t know what to say.” Try harder, then. People are just waiting for me to feel “better” so they don’t feel so uncomfortable speaking to me. And that’s all it is, an uncomfortableness.
Speaking to me is not hard. What I did was hard. Giving birth to a dead baby, eight pounds, five days past her due date, that was hard. And living with it for the rest of my life? Even harder.
There were so many people on the edge of their seats waiting for me to have the baby. I mean I was overdue, it was going to be any day now. The Face.book messages were coming through thick and fast. “Had the baby yet?” “No, but watch this space!” “So exciting, good luck!”
Status update: “Sally is waiting for this baby to make an appearance. Hurry up baby!”
My 200 “friends” were waiting. They were ready and anxious to hear the news. Then they got the news, not the news they were expecting. Then, they were gone. You want to pass on your congrats to the mother of a new baby? Of course! But pass on condolences to the mother of a dead child. Turns out, not so much.
I'm being a bit unfair. We have more than 200 cards here. Most of which showed up in weeks 1-4. But these last few weeks, things are really quietening down.
The silence can be deafening.
That’s not to say that it has all been this way. I’ve had some wonderful friends contact me and persist with me despite my constant glumness, bitterness and negative energy.
I was sure some of them would be sick of me by now, but they are hanging in there and putting up with my tortured soul. I know they’ll wait as long as I need. And for that, I’m eternally grateful. And if any of you are reading, you know who you are. So thanks again xo
PS: If you want to come looking for me on Face.book, don’t bother. Deleting my profile was the first thing I did after we got home from finding out Hope had died. Having random old friends from high school and workplaces from eight years ago write on my wall “Hey Sall, sorry to hear about the baby. I guess it wasn’t meant to be. Better luck next time”. Or having status updates like “Sally has a broken heart,” just didn’t seem like much fun to me. And don’t even get me started on poking.
PPS: Ahh, the words. They spill. This has been good for me I think. I'm enjoying it. Thanks for stopping by and thanks for all your comments so far. Feeling very loved right now.
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It's been a month since I lost George and even now I sense the impatience that says, "aren't you getting over this yet?"
ReplyDeleteNo. Not yet.
Let yourself grieve for as long as you need. Your real friends aren't going anywhere, and your new friends understand.
xxx
Hi Sally,
ReplyDeleteWhen the cards stopped coming was a difficult time for me too. The world moved on and it felt wrong.
I'm so sorry that Hope isn't here. I've been told in the past that the three month period is one of the hardest.
I'm thinking of you.
I think that's why 3 months is so hard. Reality has set in, the world around you moves on, and you are stuck dealing with this loss on your own. It's like groundhog day. Hopefully, you have a few friends and/or family that are no so uncomfortable with you. I finally told my friends to stop asking me how I was doing as well- they should just assume that I am doing awful, even when I am smiling. Grief is lonely. It just is.
ReplyDelete"Let yourself grieve for as long as you need. Your real friends aren't going anywhere, and your new friends understand."
ReplyDeleteI think what Barbara wrote was perfect.
Love You Sally x
Sally - don't rush. Even when they start to say the words - and they will, "Wow has it been that long?" - "Aren't you feeling just a bit better?" and countless other pretty phrases to imply that this goes away...
ReplyDeleteEven then, don't rush. You need your grief.
Like I said before Sally, Mum and I are here...... We dont care what you look like on the outside (smiling or crying), you dont have to explain it to us. we know. we feel it too. we too hear the silence of people saying NOTHING.
ReplyDeleteyou have people who are here and will be here for the long haul, no questions asked.
Three months was a terrible time for me. I had not written on my son's CarePage since I posted his eulogy in December. Then I hit three months, and I felt compelled to write again and to tell people how we are doing. And I talked about the question "How are you doing?" too. Our favorite short answer became, "I'm grieving."
ReplyDeleteI am approaching the one year anniversary of my son't death. It is by no means easy, but it is different than it was at month one and at month three . . .
Take your time with your grief, let yourself experience it all no matter how others want to rush you. Keep writing and talking about Hope--and hope, and your sadness. Be kind to yourself and lean on those who are there for you (or out here reading your story).
Sally, my dad said to me that this experience just weeds out all the unnecessary people in my life and opens up the door to new people entering. Please know you have new friends (even if we're miles away) who are thinking about you and Hope. I sill struggle with the so-called friends who didn't bother to call or write (not a saint by any means) but I try and focus on those who are still here (3 1/2 months later) and the new people in my life.
ReplyDeleteI think what so many people don't understand when they fear they don't know what to say, is that sometimes you don't need to say anything. Sometimes all we need is for someone to just be there with us, willing to hear the stories of our pain, willing to look at our photos, just willing to be. We don't need them to fix us, but often they are uncomfortable with the recognition that there is very little they can do to make it more comfortable. So instead they are silent, when what we need most is their presence.
ReplyDeletehey sally-
ReplyDeleteits so weird, we're in the same space right now. i wrote the angriest blog post ever today. it just hit me full force this morning ya know? the whole friend thing is interesting. i stuck with facebook, though it was definitely a hard decision for me. to have 200+ people who i've known at every point in my life make a comment about this tragedy seemed weird. but being the person i am and have always been, i put it all out there for all to see. and because of that, friends and acquaintances came out of the woodwork who have experienced something similar and who wanted to share their stories with me. its been really good for me actually. friends and family just don't have the capacity to really get what we're going through unless they've been there themselves. so with that, they have no clue what to say and try to help in whatever way they know how. sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. i'm so glad we can be there for each other.
xoxo
i have flat given up on trying to sugar coat how i'm doing for anyone. you ask, be prepared for the answer, its a loaded question. sometimes i just say "ok" but the tone in my voice belies that pat answer. but often i just tell the honest truth, which is that i'm not good, not good at all, life is pretty damn shitty ever since ezra left, and i don't expect it to be much different anytime soon. if people can't handle that answer, its their problem, not mine, and i know on whom i can depend.
ReplyDeletei have more to add....
ReplyDeletei may not fully understand losing my child and hopefully never will have to endure the pain that all of you are experiencing. but as a family member of someone who has lost their baby, I think I can speak for all of us, Nanna's, sisters, brothers, Pop's, even close friends and say that we feel it more than you know. Yes it is a different pain, but let me tell you it is there and it HURTS. all the time, all day long. you see, we have not only lost a niece or nephew or our first precious grandchild (see my mum) but we have lost the person so close to us who has lost the most important thing in the world to them. In my case I am mourning the loss of my first niece Hope Angel and I am mourning the loss of Sally pre dead baby days. I am not for one minute saying that my journey into this new and scary world is anything like the journey for all of you Mama's, but the journey for the family is also horrible. I had to call all of Sally's friends and break the news. The were expecting the "its a girl" phonecall and
I gave them something the were not at all ready for. I had to hold my sisters hand and watch her deliver her beautiful baby into a world of silence. i held Hope while she was still warm and said in my head 'why wont you cry little baby'. i was secretly hoping it was all a mistake. my brother and I did a reading at Hope's funeral in front of over 200 shattered people. and I have since had to go back to work, face the real world, with a bunch of photos of a dead baby in my bag that nobody wants to see or hear about. its all too sad for everyone, so we must keep our beautiful girl a tragic secret.
we, the family, will never know the true pain, but we feel it, believe me. Some of us may not know how to express it or may say the wrong thing from time to time, but please dont think for one minute Sally that we are not here. I will sit on your couch for the entire summer if thats what you want, just to be there. You can talk to me about Hope all day long and I will talk back because I want to speak her name too.
Hope Angel is gone and she cant come back.... You are still here and your family and you real life friends are here trying to work out how to bring hope (the other kind) back to your life......
Dont think for one second that because time has passed, all hope has faded.
xoxox
Oh I don't know what the regulations are on commenting but Fiona, that was so beautiful.
ReplyDeleteMy heart aches for you and your mum and all that know Sally. Its a rotten situation and you are right it is hard for family members and friends. I admire the strength you had to help Sally through the darkest moment in her life. What a brave and beautiful sister you are. I feel like I have this massive connection to your family and I so hope to meet you all one day. I know it will happen. I wish I lived closer to help you through this time Sally. I feel so helpless. I know that of late I haven't been so uplifting. The time that you are going through right now is horrid.
I will just try to keep being your friend. Fiona know you can talk to me any time too!
I love you both x!!!
Carly x
P.S I think that Hope will never be a secret now... she is too loved to be kept a secret!
((hugs)) Sally. On top of our loss, we have to deal with people around us, and people's *expectations* as well. But you owe no one anything. Take care of yourself first. Some "friends" may fall away, but you will find new ones too. But first, let your heart throb and heal. xoxo
ReplyDeleteGosh this is all so familiar. I was infuriated that I constantly caught myself having to adapt to ensure others didn't feel too uncomfortable around me. It was all inside out - I should have been more defiant. I should have let people squirm and feel uncomfortable on their 1 hour visits... after all, they got to back to their perfect lives afterwards, whereas we were (and still are) stuck with the grief 24/7... We didn't have the luxury of an escape.
ReplyDeleteI'm less angry than I was now, but I wonder if part of that is a sort of acceptance that some people are just plain rubbish at dealing with the parents of a baby who has died. It's depressing. But on the flip side, there have been a few wonderfully supportive friends and family members who propped us up, held our hands and supported us through it all... and continue to do so today.