Tuesday, April 25, 2006


Here are my thoughts for today - don't read too far into the meaning and intention of this post because it's just one of those days. Everyone needs to cry once in a while.

Why is it that people can’t talk about what happened to me? Why do their eyes gloss over with artificial boredom as soon as I mention my pregnancy? Why do they turn their heads and avoid my eyes. Do they really believe that if they don’t make eye contact everything will be ok? Maybe they are trying to spare me the pain, but don’t they see that I’m the one who brought it up? Can’t I choose to talk about it? It is my story to tell, not theirs. Can’t they see that if I brought it up, then I’m comfortable with the pain it brings – or here’s an abstract thought, can’t they see that maybe I feel less pain if I talk about it? Talking is therapeutic.

Why is it that they have to talk about the situation in some sort of cryptic code? Is it less difficult to deal with if we don’t use the actual words to describe it such as “pregnancy”, “stillbirth”, “girls”, “twins” and especially “baby”? Do they not realize that by skimming over the issue and avoiding the concrete facts, they are invalidating my pain? By not recognizing that something happened they don’t allow me to hold on to my memories. Is it really that big of a secret? Do people not want to admit that they know someone that lost a baby because it somehow reflects badly on them? Or even worse, that they might catch the “disease” as well? I wonder if they will ever be able to hear me mention my pregnancy in a positive note without squirming from the awkwardness of the conversation. Do they not realize that I had 5 happy months of pregnancy? I actually have memories that are GOOD – not everything was bad about my pregnancy. Do they also not realize that I actually was pregnant? I really did have two babies growing inside, so when we relate pregnancy stories I actually do have some. I actually have memories – how interesting.

Why is it that most people don’t ask me how I’m doing and really mean it? Why is it that they don’t want to actually know what my feelings are? Why is it that when they ask me how I am and I say “Not so good today” that they are so shocked? Am I not allowed to still feel pain? Just because my physical pain is gone, it doesn’t mean that I’m emotionally better – at least not all the time. On the other hand, why is it that others who really do want to know my feelings are shocked when I say I’m fine? Am I supposed to feel terrible all the time? I don’t.

Why do I feel like I need to adjust to make them feel good? Why do I have to minimize my situation just so they aren’t uncomfortable? Why is it that some people will be offended if they read this? Will they judge me for the way I’m handling things? Why do some people feel like they can tell me how to better handle the situation when they’ve never been there themselves? I sometimes don’t need things “fixed” but just need to be heard. Why do some people work so hard at making me feel bad for having these feelings, or why do I feel bad at all for having these feelings? I shouldn’t have to worry about what others think. Why do some take it personally when I’m sad – they should know I’m not sad because of them, but sometimes I’m sad when I’m around them. Those are two very different things.

Why is it that I don’t feel very many people care anymore? Why?

1 comment:

woodruffville said...

Yes, it's 3:23 am. I couldn't sleep again so I thought I'd check out some web stuff and felt like checking your blogs. I love this post - it made me smile. Weird, eh? Maybe it's because you have it all figured out, even with all the questions you're asking. The loss you feel is powerful and you've tapped into some strong energy to explain it to yourself - I can't help but smile as I see your philosophical diggings. You'll use this in many aspects through your life I think. I'm not smiling without remorse, though - I'm so sorry for the girls and you and Ben. Hope you know that.