why i'm not like you
Through blogging and reading other people’s blogs, I’ve met lots of women who, like me, have had their babies die shortly before or shortly after birth. All of them have been remarkably helpful and supportive, but what strikes me, the more I read and think, is how much trouble I have identifying with any of them. I keep writing about this over and over again, probably because I have so much trouble coming to terms with it. Every time I read something written by a grieving mother, I think “But I don’t feel that way. I’ve never felt that way. I can’t imagine feeling that way.”
For example, I can’t stand hearing the twins’ names. I tell anyone who asks that we didn’t give them names, because I don’t see how I can say “Actually, I’m not going to tell you what their names are because if I told you, you might refer to them by name” without sounding as if I’m, well, an insane ingrate. I made the mistake of admitting to one of my friends what the girl twin’s name was and now, whenever I talk to that friend, she manages to work it into the conversation. She must have read some list of What To Say To A Bereaved Parent, where item #7 was “Do let them know you care by using their child’s name” She’s trying so hard to do the right thing, but, frankly, I’d much rather she said something like, “Just think of all the money you’re saving on diapers and baby clothes,” because at least then I’d feel justified in telling her to STFU. As it is, I avoid talking to her whenever possible.
I never saw the twins. I don’t have any mementos. In fact, it really bothers me that the hospital probably still has pictures of my twins. I asked the hospital to destroy them, but I’m sure that they didn’t listen to me. It’s very painful to think that these things exist and that there’s nothing I can do to get rid of them. I don’t count the twins as “real” children. I can’t remember the anniversaries of the twins’ deaths and I don’t want to.
The other day, I ran into the very sympathetic rabbi. The one who offered to give the twins Hebrew names and to pray for them. She kept saying extremely nice and thoughtful things and I kept tying to change the subject.
“So, Niobe, how are you?” (Touching my arm and gazing deeply into my eyes)
“I’m fine. You know, I hear it’s going to get up into the 80s by this afternoon.”
“Have you had a chance to think any more about the ceremony we talked about?”
“Not really. But, on the other hand, I was listening to the radio and they said that there’s a chance it might rain.”
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot”
”I appreciate that. So, uh, how about those Red Sox?”
I could go on and on, but I’m sure you get the picture. In sum, I feel a little like the Tin Woman. Or, to elevate the level of my literary allusions, like Caesar’s sacrifice. Y’know, a beast without a heart.
33 comments:
If it weren't bothering you so much I'd say something about everyone grieving differently. Because I promise you, even if we "others" out there sound like we feel similarly, we certainly aren't the same. But you clearly are haunted by whys about your feelings. You seem to have answered all the hows.
I think I'm partly so open about it because the hospital and then my clergy hardly gave me any room to be any other way. The cantor and rabbi just assumed, first of all, that Natan would be buried where and how he was. Then they said they would consider us mourners in a traditional way if we so wanted, and I'm finding comfort in following that lead. And then those who care about me picked up on that. But clearly you don't feel the same. It's not wrong, but you yourself seem to really want to know why.
Do you really have any ideas as to why? That aren't ridden with shoulds?
I'm surprised people don't pick up on your cues. My friends who have miscarried have all acted totally differently than what I expected and were not down with my textbook attempts to say the right thing, so I ended up going with their sarcastic morbidity or whatever they seemed to be comfortable with.
I can't quite tell if you feel like you should be reacting differently, or if you are just noting that your response seems to be different from you or others expect. But from my limited understanding I can't see why the way you feel would be problematic. Maybe things will change with time, too. Or writing/talking about it more. Doing that will probably help elucidate for you why you feel like you do, if it matters so much to you to know.
I hesitate to say this a little, and it's not entirely on topic, but from reading for a couple of months now, it seems that maybe some things have changed in how you think of the twins. For example, I remember that when I first started reading, you used to mostly mention the girl twin, and now you tend to talk about both of them together. I don't think that answers any questions whatsoever, just something I noticed.
You're absolutely right. That's something that I've made an effort to do, even though it didn't feel natural, because for a long time I felt terrible that I was only really "counting" the girl, probably because she was actually born alive. I'm so glad that someone noticed.
I don’t count the twins as “real” children.
Why not?
There's no right way to grieve. I'm sure you've heard that before, but I'll say it again. Do what you need to do, and don't worry about others. And you can tell your friend (kindly) that you prefer not to talk about the twins, and you know she is trying to help, but please, don't. Tell her whenever she gets the urge to ask, to talk about the weather! ;)
I am constantly mystified by the grieving process of others. I do say my son's name sometimes, because ten years on from his death, I realise that I don't want him not accounted for.
But some are shocked because I've never laid a stone on his grave (too heavy for one born so small) or told my living children about him yet (my eldest is 8).
I'm coming to realise that because I am not religious, my need to acknowlege his existence is as much to tell my own story, as it is to mourn the loss of his. And that sounds selfish and not part of the grieving mother handbook.
All I would say, is that my thoughts, feelings and actions around this have changed over the course of a decade and that grief, like life, is not a set path to be accomplished, but a navigation that is sometimes easier to handle than others.
As I come to mark my son's 10th birthday, I know for sure that myself and my MIL will mark it mentally - and that's probably all. And that's fine. My husband took all his grief and turned it into love for our subsequent children and does not look back. And that's fine, too.
A long winded way of saying that it's whatever you need when you need it - and everyone else should just butt out quietly when asked.
I don't anyone of can understand what you've been through and what you are going through.
That is the beauty of it; we're all different - unique in every aspect. We all need to go with what works for us; what helps us cope during difficult times.
I'm all for direct communication so when people try to talk to me about my loss, I smile and simply state...that's not something I'd like to talk about but thank you for your concern....that stop them. Take care.
Catherine: Why don't I consider them my "real" children? I'm not sure. But I just don't. The analogy I use is that the way I feel about them is more similar to what many (though not all) women would feel about an early miscarriage.
I feel very sad and that I wish with all my heart that they had survived, but, in my mind, they never quite reached the status of "real" people. I call them "babies," but I sometimes feel that I'm overstating the case. However, I'm all too aware that most women would -- and do -- feel differently.
I'm delurking here a bit.
If it bothers you, then maybe there IS something else there you are not dealing with
If it isn't really bothering you, then it probably doesn't matter
The only thing we can change is ourselves
Niobe, I've heard you mention before that you knew or felt like the pregnancy was not going to be successful. I also remember you writing about the GC and the likelihood of the eclampsia happening again. Perhaps there is a part of you that might want to try again and is scared but can fathom it if the twins "weren't real". Like you are turning your loss into something less painful so you will be able to try again. It's hard to crawl into someone's head without offending or giving assive. I just can't help but think it's some kind of protection device.
All I know is the last thing I would ever think of you as is "a beast without a heart." I find your capacity for compassion enormous.
I don't say this to challenge or disagree with your decision not to see your twins, but I wonder if that isn't a critical difference. Honestly, I have no idea how I would feel about my twins if I hadn't seen them and held them. Before I delivered them, I felt very uncertain about whether I wanted to see them. I had no idea what two such premature babies would look like, and I think in my mind I made them less than they were. I think that is why it didn't even occur to me to ask whether or not heroic measures could be taken even though they weren't quite yet 24 weeks. In holding them and seeing them, and in watching them die, they became ever so much more real than I was prepared for. I was very sad before they were born, but devastated after they were born and I had to face exactly what, and who, I was losing.
Again, I'm not saying that wasn't the "right" choice for you, but maybe that is part of what makes your feelings different than some (though certainly not all).
feelings are by nature irrational. there isn't one way to feel. you're not dispassionate just b/c you don't feel like everyone else. i bet, in fact, there are mothers who experienced loss who felt and feel just like you...they just aren't honest about it, like you.
i feel like you feel the need to forgive yourself, or maybe feel shame about the way you handle grief? Why? What sense does that make? If i told you that i wasn't handling one of the most utterly painful moments of my life the "right" way, what would you say to me, a person you barely know? Exactly. Don't be so hard on yourself, goodness. Feel what you feel the way that *you* do.
You know you deal the way you deal. Don't kick yourself or second guess. We grieve but differently. Take care of yourself. Let your mind process, your emotions do their thing. It isn't easy. I have never walked in your shoes but I have grieved and still am grieving. I don't think it will ever end but just change in how I look at it.
HUGS!
I'm so sorry Niobe, I don't know the right thing to say, so I'll rather say nothing. And that I'm thinking of you. x
Not to argue with how you say you are feeling when you are writing about how you are annoyed at people who seem to want/expect you to feel grief differently than you do: but your writing is not that of someone without a heart.
No two of us grieve the same way. You're the only one who can say for yourself that you're not grieving as you should (I've been thinking a bit, but hadn't commented on, your post about your family's reaction to your grief). How you talk, how you heal, how you make space for yourself, how you choose to move through the world since the twins: that's all your choice, and whether those choices are (un)like others' choices is not the measure of your heart.
I wonder if Lori's on to something there?
That said, I do think everyone experiences grief differently. Also, it's not necessarily the case that how we write about our grief and how we feel in the middle of the night about our grief overlap.
I don't know.
But please, please don't think that how it played out for you will have any impact whatsoever on how you will feel about the child or children yet to come. Because it won't.
It will come.
As everyone above said, grieving is different for each of us. And just because you're someone who--by nature or by habit--tends to keep it so far inside that YOU can't even get to it most of the time doesn't make you a "beast without a heart." (Although I do stand in awe of a brain that can leap from L Frank Baum to Shakespeare in a single bound!)
Thanks for your very kind comments recently. They mean a lot.
Everyone is different and you are entitled to feel however you feel.
Hugs.
What a very thoughtful post!
I had this great big long comment which I think got eaten by blogger, yesterday....crap
Niobe, you are not a beast without a heart. And you are not that different. Names or no, you are writing about them and talking about their loss every day on this blog. They are very very much alive to you in a real and complete way.
Your twins are more alive to you than you think. You have certainly written more about them here than I have about my last lost pregnancy.
As for your friend, email her and simply say that you would like to talk about other things as well as the babies and perhaps she could let you bring up the subject first from now. Add some emotional thank yous for her kindness, and she'll be happy with that. And you will probably be very relieved next time you see her.
This is what makes me think that there is "something else" there under the surface..."My grief does seem to be going on and on and isolating me more and more from my family. Maybe it doesn't make sense for me to continue to be so sad about two babies who never really even lived."
The grief is there. You've admitted it on more than one occasion. I think, maybe, it's the way that you're dealing with it that sets you apart. And only you can say if the way you're coping is working or not for you. We can play pop psychologist all day for you...but in the end you're the one living your life so only you can make healing decisions.
And I think you may have inspired a post...it's still percolating, but I think it's something worth exploring for myself. Thanks for opening the topic up and being strong enough to share your feelings.
It took me awhile to respond to this because I am not quite sure what to say.
You are not wrong, and you are not without heart. Everybody is different.
But, I think I also feel a little questioning. You are grieving SOMETHING, after all. I don't want to overstep my bounds here, but I can't help but wonder if it is just a delayed reaction, and with time, things will change for you. After all, you may not want to say their names, may not want to tell people their names, but, you did give them names, so it must mean something.
As for not seeing them, truly, that may have been your lack of support. Your story about being alone after the c section shows this, I think. I am not sure I would have known to see M had not the nurses been talking like it was a given, and my mom also assuming the same. I was very scared to see him, I didn't know in the moment what I wanted. Its only looking back that I am able to be glad I did.
Participating in some of the things you mentioned has truly helped my grief, I believe. But that is me, we all have to do what we feel is right for us. Like another poster said, think of what you would say to a friend who felt the way you do, I am sure you wouldn't think she was a beast.
A few thoughts..
Sometimes, after having been successful in most every aspect of your life, dealing with a devastating loss like this begins to feel like a failure on your part, like somehow you were responsible and failed to carry out your responsibility/goal/desire. That is hard to accept, and is often stuffed deep deep within. The gut wrenching pain associated with it does not go away though, and colors the way you see the world from that point on. The other feeling that goes along with this is anger- enough to consume the world if unleashed. Every once in a while it pokes it's head out at a clueless but well meaning "comfort giver". These are just things I realised as I worked through my own "why am I like this?" grief. Hope you take your time and be kind to yourself as you find your way through yours.
No, I don't think you're a beast without a heart. But perhaps you're trying to keep that heart well-protected, because it has suffered enough recently. You were left alone when you should not have been alone, which perhaps makes it even harder now.
From someone in a similar situation than I was/am I was told she did not want to assume that she knew how I was feeling, but just send some kind words. I did not understand it then, but now a bit more. You grieve your way.
What's wrong with protecting ourselves in a way that may be perceived as different by others?
Why is it better to get the grieving process done on the forefront and then linger for years with the aftermath compared to letting yourself be adrift in the emotions and not being swallowed by them until you are ready?
Obviously you have a heart or you wouldn't have wrote this post. You wouldn't probably even have this blog.
You are trying to work it out your way and on your terms.
So be it.
Just read this post and wanted to just say I'm sorry for what you are going through. I agree with everyone else.. everyone grieves in different ways and in their own time. Don't be so hard on yourself You're doing the best you know how to deal with this situation and there is no right or wrong way.
So much of how the blogosphere works is based on recognition - people love to comment and say, "I feel exactly the same way!" And after reading 20 comments like that, one might feel a little odd saying, "I'm not like that at all!"
It seems to me I've seen comments from you (at my place and elsewhere) that focus on differences unrelated to the grieving process. How you process grief is just one aspect of your personality, which strikes me as cerebral, unsentimental, and honest. (In short, you're an NT woman, to use the Myers-Briggs terminology - and female NTs are few and far between, but very cool, IMO.)
I say don't kick yourself and feel bad because you are different then some of us who have lost babies. We all deal with it just not the same. As for me I love to hear her name and talk about her. Does that make me righ and you wrong, no.
As long as you are doing what gets you by then that is the right thing. But I also along with other people believe that there is more to it.
They are real children and they are remembered everyday by you and all of us.
I wish there was something else I could say to bring you peace, but I don't have the words.
Eva and Sara: I do worry about my reactions and I do spend a fair amount of not-particularly successful effort trying to understand them. Because, as Anonymous, the oneliner and Catherine suggested, I wonder if there's something else going on here.
Loss invokes loss. Or something like that. Recently, I find myself dwelling on other, earlier, losses, some of which seem more real and immediate than the twins' deaths. Occasionally I think that it's because I've never really come to terms with my previous losses that I lack the emotional space and energy to cope with the latest bout of grief.
SKF: Yes, it is very difficult to deal with my feelings of failure. Though now I sometimes feel that not only did I fail at pregnancy, I'm also failing at grief. I *know* that's not true. Nonetheless, the doubts hover.
I realize that there's a wide range of reactions to these kind of traumas and that there's nothing really wrong with the way I feel. Still, it troubles me a little that I seem to be sitting way out there on one end of the bell curve.
Monica: I am terrified about the future. I tell myself that if the surrogacy doesn't work out for one reason or another, it will hurt less, because I won't be physically involved, but I'm not sure that's right.
Lori, Slouching Mom, Ms. G: I've been thinking over your point about not seeing the twins. It's very, very hard to untangle whether that's cause or effect. I was adamant that I didn't want to see the twins because I was afraid that the sight would leave me with an uneradicable image, a visual scar that would never heal. It may well be that my decision had the result of making me feel more distanced than I would be otherwise. But it also may be that the reason I reached that decision in the first place was that I already was more disconnected than many other women would have been.
I'm fairly new to reading your blog but I also think you are protecting yourself. You don't want to be like the rest of us grieving mothers so it is important to you that you act differently. Not that there is anything wrong with this. I wouldn't want to be me either.
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