One year ago we were 6 months out from losing our precious Eva. 6 months of unfathomable blackness. 6 months. No time and forever. We were literally still reeling in pain and grief. One year ago today I was just, just, just holding it together when the phone rang...
*Disclaimer about today's post: I really try not to be negative or to use this blog simply as a vent but to really document my feelings, growth in my grief, and to own my pain. I have often thought about changing the privacy settings on this blog but I know how valuable it was to me to find a blog by a bereaved mom that was still active over a year later. I keep this blog open as a beacon of light and hope to other grieving parents. Even when it's hard. Even when it seems like I talk about my feelings for Eva all the time. I know I feel more hope now than I did when I was in the black vortex of my early grief. The sucking black bottomless pit of grief and pain. I am still alive. 18 months after the death of my beloved daughter, I am still breathing. Something I didn't think would be possible in the weeks following her death.
However, today's post is something I've been waiting to write for a year. Hoping that I wouldn't need to write it but I need the closure and this is the only way it's going to happen for me. Waiting for a year to have a conversation with A about this day, one year ago when my then-friend's living son was born. And it hasn't happened. So if you're someone who reads my blog and doesn't want to hear about this kind of crap then feel free to skip today's post. Tomorrow we'll be back to 'normal'. Whatever that means...
One year ago I was just, just holding it together on the 6 month anniversary of my daughter's death. And the phone rang. I picked it up without thinking. Without thinking that I couldn't hold a conversation. Without thinking at all. And A was on the other end of the line. Without any thought to what day it was she tells me... 'I'm having period-like cramps and I think I'm in early labour. I'm calling a few people to pray for me and I'm so happy it's not being born on Valentine's Day-we were praying it wouldn't be born on Valentine's Day so now it doesn't have to share a birthday with a holiday'. No pause, no stop to say that she remembered Eva or that it might be hard for me to hear this kind of news on such an already hard day.
"I hope your baby's born alive" I said, and there was a long pause. I could tell A was upset that I had said that. Because it put into her head that sometimes babies are born dead. And sometimes they are. At our small hospital there are 2-3 stillbirths a month. It was not the right thing to say. I should have said 'I hope all goes well', which would have effectively been the same thing, albeit more politically correct. And when I say those words to pregnant mamas now...I'm always thinking I hope your baby is born alive, alive, alive...and I say aloud "I hope all goes well".
In the months leading up to this conversation A had regaled me with tales about how she didn't think an early ultrasound was necessary with her baby. She didn't want this doctor or that doctor. That she would bring us a meal after Eva's death. A meal that never materialized. That she would babysit for me and invite us over at Christmastime. Both things which she was too busy to do, I guess. Let me be clear here. I don't care if you didn't make us a meal after Eva's death, although I know the people who did were showing us their love in the best way they knew how: through food. I don't care if you don't babysit or don't invite us over for Christmas. Just don't say you will.
The biggest unreality of my whole 'friendship' with A was that at less than 3 months from Eva's death and barely 2 weeks after what should have been her first birthday A called me up and agonized for about half an hour about what she wanted to do for her living daughter's birthday. How she couldn't agree with her husband over it. Really? Really? Just be thankful you have a daughter who can blow out her own candles. Be thankful that you're not sending balloons to heaven for your daughter's birthday. Seriously? You're talking to me about this. And I listened in stunned silence. We never went to that party.
And what you could call a friendship ended on February 15th 2012. With the birth of A's son, on the 6 months anniversary of Eva's death.
And since that time I have written A two letters trying to have a conversation. I have seen A at various events in our small town. I have said hello nearly every single time. She has coldly said hello back, and not one word more. I don't know what's going on in her head, but I've waited a year to talk with her.
Today is her son's birthday. I'm sure there is cake eating happening. I'm sure there are balloons. I'm sure they're glad it's not Valentine's day. Cause they prayed for that right? Prayed for a date? But didn't pray for a living child. Who knows, maybe they did...but sure didn't care about the 15th. Nope. Not a big deal there at all.
And a couple of weeks ago, I saw A again, at literacy day. I walked up and told her that I was going to blog about this because I needed closure. Because, after a year, it was obvious there would be no conversation with her. And I need closure. Just to be done. No more thinking if maybe we would talk. Done. Finished. Over. And it is. Finally.
I know I said the wrong thing on the phone with her that morning but, now, as the birth of our little hope baby approaches all I can think is...I hope s/he's born alive (and stays that way).
*I can't believe how good it feels to finally get this off of my chest. I realize that some of you readers who follow me and especially those who are not bereaved parents will think this is kind of harsh. That I shouldn't have said that to her. As you know now, I don't anymore, I keep those thoughts confined to my mind.
A little grace would have been nice. A little grace in the darkness.
Oh, Em, I hope this blog post brings you some sense of closure. But most of all, I hope that you can give yourself a break. Your friend was very insensitive, and you have taken a very kind lens at this point. In those fresh and raw days of loss - especially that first year - there are people who "get it" and people who don't. She did not get it. I am glad her baby was born alive. I think that anyone who is near a loss suddenly realize that loss is possible, and so your saying that you hope her baby is born alive is just honest. It may sound harsh because that's not what anybody wants, but it is just true. Losses in my friendships, for me, has been one of the facets of the loss and grief, and the way that life is reshaping in Nathaniel's absence. And it, too, has sucked. But I hope that in the place of this friendship, several other friendships are developing - deeper, more honest, more loving friendships, that can be supportive for both people. <3
ReplyDeleteSuzanne, Thank you so much for commenting so often and so thoughtfully on my blog. You are appreciated, though we've never met.
DeleteWhile I am somewhat sad at the loss of this relationship (and a couple others) mostly I am glad to know the truth about people's true colours. It is one of the gifts that came in the package nobody wants. And the friendships I have developed in the past 18 months are closer, deeper and more honest than what came before. I will forever be grateful to those friends of mine who walked with me through the blackest time of my life.
Much love to you dear.
Em
I don't blame you for saying what you said Em. I'm glad you have closure for this. Again, thank you for sharing your heart. I appreciate this blog more than you know. Love, Renee
ReplyDeleteRenee, Thank you so much for your comment. I was a bit afraid of writing this post out and hitting publish. And I'm so glad that my blog is something positive for you.
DeletePraying for some peace and closure for you.
ReplyDeleteThanks Heidi.
DeleteAnd this post had been good closure. I'm glad I finally wrote it out. It's done now. No more hiding. No more pretending...
Oh good grief - losing a child is hugely difficult and leaves you dwelling in dark places. However sunny and optimistic you were before, it is hard to maintain courage and hope when the worst possible thing that you can ever imagine has happened.
ReplyDeleteYour former friend sounds horrible/depressingly familiar. She is hugely selfish - not just to go to you for emotional support when it should have been clear to even the most feeble imbecile that you had none to give - but also for her lack of forgiveness for a single silly remark. Hasn't it occurred to her, if having a dead baby is what immediately springs to your mind, what a dark place you're in - how much you fear for your own babies?
It is depressingly familiar - I think people find bereaved parents and our dark places too bloody much - it is too close to home - too absolute a reminder of what may befall them and their precious families.
You are well shot Em - she sounds pretty vile.
I have given up explaining it to muggles. In the end it is a bit like banging your head on the wall. Don't we have enough to deal with? Find me on facebook, if you use it - I miss you xx susan.ireland@hotmail.co.uk
Susan!
DeleteSO good to hear from you. I've missed you tons. Your blog was one of my favourites and I miss it incredibly.
Hugs Em, I hope you get the closure you need from this. There isn't a lot I can say that hasn't really been said by someone else here already but some people are so selfish and so self centered and those people don't deserve a place in your heart.
ReplyDeleteThanks Sally. It's good to hear from you. I've been thinking about you. I think A is more oblivious than anything else. I can't believe how relieving it was to get this out.
DeleteEm
Em,
ReplyDeleteYou know I'm not even a Mom, let alone a bereaved parent. In fact, we know our lives are so utterly divergent from one another it's almost comical. But maybe that means it's fair of me to say - just because you said the "wrong" thing, doesn't make you "wrong". Let me make myself clear. I say "wrong" because in no way were you "wrong". Maybe not best judgement, nor politically correct nor considerate. But by no means were you in the wrong, you were merely [what I imagine to be] deeply hurt, wounded and probably pretty bleak. Furthermore, you wished health on her baby, just in an odd way.
I hope you have had the chance to heal from lost friendship, and the lack of understanding on A's part. Her lack of compassion is somewhat striking. But do know that you are an incredibly strong individual, with such obviously good intentions, and ability to be frank, although sometimes frankness feels like a curse doesn't it? ;)
I'm glad there's closure for you, it sounds needed. But man alive, it's sad that it was ever required.
Jen
Those dang bloggers who just stop suck!! I always said I wouldn't be that person but I feel like I'm in a black hole right now and I know I need to write more the release of the feelings no matter how dark, knowing someone reads them really helps. I just need to figure out how to incorporate my every day life in as well. I can't believe this person would treat you so poorly. I'm so sorry :( please don't stop your blog either!
ReplyDelete