I think at some point, all Still Mothers have told a friend, acquaintance, etc, that we cannot have living children and have been tossed the “oh! Mine are terrors, you can have mine” line. Ugh!
I’ve tried to be educational and yet honest and bluntly tell people that their statement hurts me. The thing is, I can’t. I can’t have living children. I can’t have the child I desperately prayed for; his ashes have been buried. Sometimes, they dig the hole deeper and tell me just how hard it is to have kids. Those sound like champagne problems to a Still Mother. Your “problem” is my crushed dream.
I can’t have yours. To have your kids would force you to enter my world to walk in these shoes. For every single holiday on the calendar to feel empty, meaningless and hollow. For the extra bedroom that we call the guest room but we all know it is Thomas’ room. For the deafening silence to consume you. For family traditions to exclude you, favourite activities now meaningless, with no one to teach them to. To only ever hear children play outside your house, never from within.
Let me be clear, parents are allowed to vent. They are allowed to complain, to be frustrated and a nice healthy vent is good for them. They are human and are allowed their emotions.
What they are not allowed to do is offer me forbidden fruit, as casually as you might lend out a book. “Oh! Want mine??” Yes. Yes, I do. I would happily snatch them up in an instant and relocate to another province before you finished the sentence, actually. If I had a different body, if my health allowed me to parent, if I thought it was remotely possible.
Have you ever thought what that offer sounds like? To offer me something so beautiful, so desired, so cherished – as a joke? Believe me, you don’t want to know what it’s like to live each day with your children gone forever.
So, please, when I say “I can’t have kids”, don’t offer yours. Don’t offer anything, actually, except your sincerest “I”m so sorry” possible. And treasure the children you have, because there are many like me sitting next to me in this unwanted place – their children gone or never conceived – watching, wishing they had the opportunity to have what you so casually joke about giving away.
- The Importance Of Pictures - October 12, 2020
- Self-Isolation And Still Mothers - April 3, 2020
- And Here We Are - June 24, 2019
To get the “You can have my eggs I have so many” was also great, when I told a fellow baby-loss mum about our fertility issues (she got pregnant with her “rainbow” after a WHOLE three months trying). She just could not see how rude that was. I KNOW how perfect YOUR baby is, but that doesn’t mean I want to give birth to YOUR child, I want my own baby!!! She is no longer my friend, as it upset her when I told her she hurt my feelings….
Thank you for saying what I have thought many times. The people who have said this to me have not meant to hurt me, but you are right. It is hard to tell someone that they have said something so hurtful.
They don’t meant to hurt me, but that’s why I have started telling them it does hurt. Hopefully, the note that, and don’t keep saying the same painful thing to others. hugs
It doesn’t matter that they “have not meant to hurt”, the fact is that they do. They never think about what they are saying. And even if they do think, they think that we’re over it. They just think, oh, she doesn’t have children — never mind if we did have a child/ren, and lost it. I don’t make excuses any more for other people’s selfish and insensitive words — I did that for too many years.
Good for you, Mirne. I still feel that breaking the silence and telling people when something is hurtful is the only way to end the cycle. My hope is if we all speak our truth, we might save some pain and anguish for others. I think we are very much on the same page, sadly.