Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Uncertain Territory

Half day attendance for the students. I can tell the kids really missed our routine and the work we do while I was gone. The kindergarten had Santa visit this morning and although we glimpsed him in the hallway and heard the bells as he changed rooms, they did not go crazy as I would expect them to. One time when we heard bells, Meliyah said, "That Santa is just distracting us!" Hard working sweeties.

Everyone went out to lunch. Jae had brought her lunch and stayed with me at school. I told her I feel like I'll be a crabass for the rest of my life. She said, you will feel like a crabass until you don't anymore.

I feel sorry for the people who have to be around me.

District wide professional development in the afternoon. I feel like I've been dodging and weaving in uncertain territory. Not sure who will speak to me of what happened, who knows and is ignoring it or who doesn't know. I sat next to our school social worker all afternoon and I don't think she knows what happened to us. She didn't say anything about it and acted so totally normal. I couldn't really turn to her and say, "Hey, did you hear my baby died?" I'm just waiting to run into the first person who doesn't know I've lost him and says something to me about pregnancy or due date or something. What wretched milestones I have yet to experience.

The school nurse came up to me and told me she'd had three miscarriages. I can't believe how many people are walking around with this kind of pain and they appear completely normal. I feel like I appear damaged and that I'll forever be damaged goods.

12 comments:

  1. The more women I meet who I learn have gone through horrible fertility things makes me realize that women have a special tragic set of experiences -- kind of a secret society of pain, a "red badge" of womanhood that creates a comradery that is immediate and runs very deep. No one seems to know about it until you find yourself in it, but thank god it is there as the pain is too intense to endure by oneself.

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  2. The only thing I can offer is to be kind and true to yourself. If the circumstance or person you are engaging with warrants it, by all means, tell them what happened. You should not feel that you should harbor this "secret" any more than you want to harbor it. It is such a recent occurrence, still fresh and raw, and you deserve all the support you can get, even if it is a sympathetic look, a hug, a knowing glance, and offer for help. I'm not intimating that you do feel like you need to harbor it, just that you shouldn't have to to "spare" others the story of this tragedy in your life.

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  3. I can imagine how anxious I'd be about having to break the news to people, for the indefinite future. I'm glad that the school nurse felt comfortable telling you about her losses. Some of the most empathic people are probably the ones who also know what it feels like to lose a child.

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  4. It's good that the nurse felt she could talk to you about your loss and hers. I think more women have experienced loss than we often know. You will always have Greyson in your heart, but the pain will slowly fade... if you can't have your own faith right now - take heart in that there are many women out there who have experience similar things and continue to go on living and loving. And they're out there supporting you. <3

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  5. I'm glad the nurse was supportive - it is amazing to me as well how many people suffer and we have no idea. Failure in IVF has made me much more aware of this fact if nothing else! Having other people share loss is comforting to me - although perhaps not yet for you my dear. We are thinking of you and holding you close. Take care.

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  6. You are normal, its just that your version of normal has changed some. You are now a woman who has lost a child, and it's hard to reconcile that with 'normal.' You will never be the same, but you will still be. After my losses, I thought I was somehow dishonoring my babies' memories by experiencing any kind of joy. I would catch myself smiling, and beat myself up, drowning myself in guilt. I would ask myself 'what kind of horrible person am I, how dare I smile when I have lost 3 babies?' Eventually, I realized that allowing hapiness back into my life is a much more worthy tribute to my babies than constantly reminding myself to remain miserable when there were opportunities for happiness in front of me. Give yourself time, you will get there.

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  7. I still have no words that will mean anything but please know you're in my thoughts daily. Love you, Paige. ♥

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  8. I don't think that people realize how painful it can be when they chose to ignore your pain because they're too uncomfortable to say anything. Really, is it so hard to touch you on the arm and say, "I'm so sorry for your loss?" No, it's not, but some people just don't realize it.

    (((hugs))))

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  9. Nothing to add, Paige, but I do want to let you know that I am still reading and I am still thinking of you.

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  10. It's amazed me too how many people will reveal their miscarriage once they know you've had one too...it's heartbreaking the soooo many of us have to carry that pain. Hang in there...still sending your loving thoughts & prayers daily...

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  11. I'm surprised the kids didnt get more excited over Santa!

    It's good to know people who have shared your experience, because they can truly empathize with you and that is worth so much. They know the right things to say or not say and sometimes just knowing someone else survived such a horrific experience helps to show there's light at the end of the tunnel, if even in the far distance. xoxoxoxox

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  12. Infertility and loss is such a crappy common thread to bind so many women together. Yet it's there. For all those who say nothing when they don't know what to say there are still so many of those who have walked the same path you do. Hugs to you.

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