*Editor’s Note: This post was originally published on Chloë’s blog, here.
“It is better to light a candle, than to curse the darkness.”
I started to blog for two reasons : first, because I thought the love I shared with my daughter was a story worth telling. Second, because I was living in an oncology hospital, I had little contact with the outside, and felt very isolated. Even when people did try to communicate with me, they couldn’t understand the things I was saying, as if I was speaking a foreign language. We just didn’t live in the same world anymore. I started to share our cancer reality, hoping to bridge this gap. I was not trying to tell a pretty story, or to make anyone look good. I wanted to say things as they were. No sugar coating. No down playing it. Just plain and raw, telling the truth. But lately, things have changed. I have been struggling to own my story. In my last post, I wrote “We are not doing so great lately”. That’s quite the understatement. But I kept censoring myself, tiptoeing around the ugly parts.
People often tell me, “You are strong “ or “I don’t know how you do it”. Of course my strength is nothing but average, it just happens that I don’t have any other choice. But the “strong” label is part of the cancer tale. People want you to be strong ; they want you to survive, to behave, to get back to normal as soon as possible. They want you to get better, mostly because your grieving is annoying.
Society has a nice little script for bereaved parents to follow: After a short mourning time, the bereaved parents rediscovers joy and happiness; surrounded by the constant support of family and close friends (and therapy, let’s not forget therapy!), he takes back the control of his life. He comes out of the ordeal appeased, happier, a better person even. He had learned the value of life and the power of love. His relationship is stronger than ever – because going through shit like this brings a couple together, right ? And what about a new baby now ? Isn’t that the ultimate healing ?
Seven months after the death of Soley, this is not my reality. And I am not the spokesperson of the angels parents club, but this is not the reality of any of my bereaved friends, either. Seven months. I am not getting better, I am getting worse. Every day I am running lower on things like energy and joy, even though I use them sparingly. Since my daughter died, I had only two goals : keeping her memory alive, and keeping my job. I have been able to manage both things in the past months, but it’s getting harder and harder. Some days I really think I have something to give to my students, but some day I feel like i shouldn’t be allowed in front of a class. Some days I can find it in me to do the groceries and cook ; some other days I can’t even eat a bite. Some days I can do my hair and make up ; some days I don’t even have the strength to take a shower. Some days I am able to have a normal conversation (none of those conversations focusing on Soley or grief, incidentally, because that would make people uncomfortable). But some days the mask I wear for the world feels heavier than usual, and those around me catch a glimpse of sorrow or a bit of anger.
And people ? They don’t like that.
My bereaved friends understand the struggle each day is. Some of them tell me they couldn’t even leave their house for months; some were never able to get back to work. All of them lost some friends and family. Most of them use antidepressants to help them get through the day. But people who have never lost a child, people who can’t even begin to understand our loss, think they know what we should feel and what we should do in order to get better. They allow themselves to hand out advices and blames. In the past months, we have heard some very hurtful words, especially from those closest to us. We’ve been verbally abused, threatened, insulted, gossiped about. We have heard things so mean, you can only wonder about the intent behind those words. Seven months after the death of my child, I actually have people telling me I shouldn’t be sad anymore, that I’m grieving wrong. People blame me harshly for not smiling enough, for being to lost in my grief to greet them properly. They compare the loss of our child to their own petty problems. People who were never even close to us, use my own daughter’s name against me. All this stress on top of my grief caused me a range of symptoms, and two weeks of sick leave. I feel like I’m in the middle of a nastiness contest and all I can think is : what is wrong with you ? Dont you see we’re struggling to even get through the day ? We just burried our child ! But that’s it : in their mind, we didn’t just bury our child. In their heart, Soley has been long gone and soon forgotten.
This is not pretty. This is not the cancer tale people want. This is not strong mama. But no matter how much i hate it, this is a part of our cancer reality. And we are not an exception. Bereaved parents meetings are full of these stories of heart break and treason, broken frienship and unecessary family drama. There are a lot of toxic and selfish individuals out there, and society still has a lot ot learn about child loss. Sentences like you are young, just have another baby should never, ever be told to a grieving parent. Soley is not an object, she is a human being who cannot be replaced. The myth that grief has an expiration date, or that people choose to be sad and should just get over it, are not just offensive ideas : they are downright dangerous. My only child, the love of my life, died in my arms seven months ago. I’m sorry if I’m not over it yet. I’m sorry if i am not behaving like a « normal » person. I don’t know if I will ever be. I doubt it will happen in the next years ; I’m pretty sure it won’t happen in the next months.
The loss of a child is the most traumatizing event a person can withstand. Putting disproportionate expectation and pointing fingers on those trying to survive it, is not helping. Bereaved parents don’t need judgement and opinions, bereaved parents needs support and kindness. And if you can’t be nice, then please – just be quiet.
- Love After Loss – Part II - February 10, 2017
- Love After Loss – Part I - February 8, 2017
- Sorry Not Sorry - January 23, 2017