Last night I had a terrible dream. I dreamt that I was in prison for no reason. I dreamt that the guards and wardens were masochists and voyeurs, who inflicted pain and humiliation on the inmates for their own entertainment.
I had a lovely evening last night, at a bbq with friends. A few of these friends were among the core group of people who have made it possible for us to get through these awful months – the people who came to us immediately after Natan died, and have continued coming by. [Being here isn’t a condition for being supportive – I have on my to-call list other friends (and I suck at calling back I know – I’m just so tired after making it through the day so I’m better at calling those people I can talk to before evening), mostly my college friends, who have continued to call and think of us. ]
I created this blog for three reasons: 1) to have an outlet that is here when I need and want it; 2) to connect with other families out there who have suffered the death of an infant; and 3) to give selected people we told about this blog a window into our grieving.
I learned a few things that hurt and angered me deeply yesterday. At first I thought I was being unreasonable, but it seems I can’t get rid of these feelings today. First, I learned that my oldest “friend” is pregnant. Not from her, and I know she intended to tell me herself but there are no secrets in my family. I guessed anyway, no one told me. I’m rather intuitive. I learned that she’s due shortly after me, so this means she’s known for awhile and knew when I told her about my own pregnancy and my cerclage recently. I would have been happy for her, honestly, had I not spoken to her on June 4th, talked in detail about my own pregnancy, and not heard a word from her. Had I not been speaking to her for a year about our plans to have children and been told a number of times that they were waiting. I don’t need to know other people’s family growth plans, but I thought this was something friends talked about, and I for some reason must have thought that given the heartbreak I experienced in December/January, that another woman who knows me well might approach me more sensitively about her news. Because maybe I feel humiliated that my own pain and failure is on constant public display among our friends and family and YET SHE CHOSE TO WAIT UNTIL SHE WAS IN THE SECOND TRIMESTER, another measly 11 days from our last conversation, TO TRY TO TELL ME (I was napping Friday when she called). The reason for this I’m sure would be that social taboo against waiting to tell people until it’s “safe.” Well, I don’t care that I’m being unreasonable and unfair and impeding on other people’s right to their fantasies about pregnancy but that feels like A SLAP IN THE FACE. But when I do talk to this person, I’m going to reciprocate the non-communicativeness which I now realize characterizes the relationship, say “Congratulations,” and be done with it. And then get back to praying that I will not bury this child and have to contend with seeing a child just a few days younger than it for the rest of my life. Not that anyone should organize their life around my pain, but some sensitivity might be nice. I might seem bitter on this blog but that’s because I use it to keep bitterness out of my daily life. I’m damn nice and genuinely kind and smiley in daily life.
And I’m sure I must be “awkward” to talk to. Well, only because some people don’t want to take a step to get beyond their own discomfort. I realize that about my own reluctance to approach the grieving, why don’t many other people try?
And I’m sure I’m giving other people that I know more reason to “worry” about me.