The woman in the cafe surveys my family with a smile. “Four girls,” she says approvingly. “Same as me.”
I smile back, though these conversations are not easy and, when Max is there, I’m robbed if the ability to say anything that I feel comfortable with. Max has four girls. I have four girls and a heap of grief that should be a son.
She hasn’t finished “I have four girls too. Four girls…. And one boy.”
I gape at her. The girls freeze, petrified in the act of choosing a pasty. Max goes as still as a creature that knows a buzzard is watching. And I just look. I don’t know what to do. What to say. I’ve practised so many responses but I don’t have one for this; at least, I don’t have one for this in front of Max. To him, any mention of Freddie is undignified, to him it is wrong to say “we did have a boy”. In his mind, seeping out of his aura, is criticism if I risk making someone else feel bad because of my baggage. So I am wordless, again, frozen while my family wait for my move.
I turn away and tell then to choose some food. I stare blindly at cheesecake while Max puts food on a tray and the girls slide away to find a table. I think something must register in the woman’s face because she grabs our order and hurries away and I pay someone else.
There is no escape from how far sideways these moments knock me though and not one of the five are surprised when I leave the table. My sobs frighten old ladies in the toilets and cold water can’t wash away the signs. I’m angry, angrier than ever that 17 months on I am still unprepared for out of the blue. This is like no grief I have ever known. There is no slow recovery; yesterday I was back to the moment he died. What that innocent passing of pleasantries cost me was a night of sobbing in my sleep while I dreamt of a tiny hand turning blue and someone else’s arms carrying one of my children to a mortuary. A mortuary, for the love of the gods. No one should leave a child in a mortuary.
Later on, I wondered about how she phrased her remark. I wondered about her “four girls… And a boy.” I wondered whether, had I met her eye and said “same as me” we might have had a different – better – understanding.
(Thanks to Three, who loaned me a Mifi and therefore let me get this off my chest on Bude beach while I was having a solitary, bag guarding weep.)
That makes me so cross. This is not your ‘baggage’, it is a shared grief. Yes you all experience it differently but it is not something that you should have to hide or try to protect others from at your own expense. Ugh the world is just crap at acknowledging death and dying and grief and bereavement and allowing outward expression of the same. Sod the worry of ‘making someone else feel bad’ – it will most likely be momentary for them but look at what not feeling able to say what you needed to did to you. From my experiences at work, trying to block it out causes so many more problems in the long term. It’s so sad that Max doesn’t feel able to acknowledge Freddie to others. What would have been your answer if he hadn’t been there?
Sending you masses of love, masses and masses. You are right, there is no slow recovery. I think there is no real recovery at all, just accomodation. x
I would have had to ay something. Everyone’s grief is different and just the ability to cope is hard enough without having to walk on eggshells and consider other peoples’ feelings. There is no wrong or right – Max deals in his ways for his reasons and so should you for yours.
The agony of losing Freddie is never ever going to subside even a little unless you find a way to acknowledge his days with you. He will always be part of your family and it counts just as much. Whilst I understand not wanting to make others feel uncomfortable by bringing up his passing, he still counts and always will.
Sorry if any of that sounds harsh. The other comment is spot on IMO – what would have been your response if Max hadn’t been there – and then would you have needed to rush to loos to cry (nothing wrong there either) as much?
hugs Merry. Can’t seem to find anything useful to say, but didn’t want to not say anything.
Oh Merry. Oh. How awful. It’s just so hard. Would you have mentioned Freddie if Max hadn’t been there? I know I also sometimes get the hairy eyeball from my hubs if I mention that we had twins when someone else brings up the subject. He also views it as ‘undignified’ whereas I just think it’s the truth. So, no matter what we say, when the subject comes up when are together, one of us ends up put out! And I find it too awful not to say anything, especially when additional company (like your girls) is painfully aware of the situation and just wanted the innocent small talker to shut up!
I wonder too. I notice pauses and turns of phrase more than I did previously. Someone told me she had ‘two children at home’ at toddler group last week and I did wonder. And I wanted to ask but I didn’t.
And I think Jeanette is right. xo
*hugs* and love. Cannot imagine how hard it must be when it comes from out of the blue.
I’m sorry Merry. I am sorry that you felt unable to acknowledge your son when you wanted to. I am sorry that you and your husband grieve differently, I’m sorry that one person’s small talk was such pain and anger and horror and I am sorry that and I’m sorry that we had to leave our children in a mortuary. Just so sorry.
Sending love merry x
These exchanges always stop me in my tracks. I’m so sorry, Merry.
xo
Those unexpected exchanges, the blindsided slap of the reality that you are constantly faced with… It’s weird how we are always thinking of our children and then a comment or some unexpected trigger will set us off spiraling us backward downward into a crazy grief world of tears and sadness. I am so sorry you couldn’t say me too. That you were left feeling so hurt and unable to acknowledge you son. Hugs to you
So sorry Merry. Big hugs. xx
Lots of love Merry. It’s awful how something so simple and intended kindly can cause so much pain. I’ve a got another husband who would rather keep quiet than discuss our dead son, even when it’s just our little family around.
:hugs: Those of us who have not experienced baby loss can never really understand. I have a friend with an only child, except really he has an older sister forever-baby. I didn’t meet my friend before she had her second child but I know about her loss and I have still said stupid and unthinking things in front of her somtimes 🙁 Sorry on behalf of idiots like me :hugs: xx
I think it’s all been said – big hugs, big sympathy for your pain, and wish you could just say what you want/need to say without worrying about either the person who triggers it nor the husband who grieves differently.
Thinking of you often.