One of the first things that crossed my mind after the loss of my only child was the answering of the invasive, rude and inappropriate questions people ask in passing. I had already dealt with them for a decade but in a much different way than I was about to face. I was married very young and I come from a family of early and fast breeders, everyone except me, that is. By the time my brother and sisters were 20, they all had 2 children. They all had more coming. I never intentionally put myself in the position for the questions, but they always seemed to make their way to me. “Do you have any kids?” Before we finally did get pregnant, I used to just say “No, not yet.” which was quickly countered with a “You’re so lucky!” or “You have plenty of time!” or “When are you going to?” I know these people did not intend to be hurtful, they were just being careless. In any case, it was always an unpleasant interaction before and it is no better now.
In the early days following the loss of my baby, when someone would ask me I would just reply “Yes, but he passed away…” I quickly developed the understanding that the world was not prepared for this answer and I had to be tougher than they were capable of being. They did not want to hear my unhappy story and so I protected them. I could not deny my son’s life and I strongly felt that if I told them I did not have children, I would be doing just that. As time went on, I developed a flow chart with which I would address each context appropriately. Can this person handle the truth? How much does this person really want to know? Do they care? Do they deserve the honor of hearing about my son? Most of the time, the answer to all of these questions was nope.
I was still pretty insistent on not denying my son so my new answer became a very brief, “Yes.” Most of the time they were satisfied but sometimes they wanted to know more. “How many? How old?” My solution for this, in an effort to stick to my guns and not deny my son’s life I would answer, “Just one. He passed away but he would be [insert age].” The world did not appreciate that answer either. I usually received awkward condolences and sometimes simply thoughtless and painful responses. “Are you going to ‘try’ again? You’re so young, you can have more babies!” Sometimes the conversation stopped right there, on a dime. Honestly, I preferred that.
My trusty mental flow chart for answering these types of questions has, for the most part, kept things harmonious within my head. I don’t have to feel guilty and I spare the people around me having to struggle with finding an appropriate response for me. That is until the Halloween Eve of 2014. My son would have been a year and 2 months. I should have been taking him out trick-or-treating. I should have been showing him off proudly, anxiously awaiting the inquiries about the perfect, handsome little boy with me. Instead, I found myself in line at a grocery store, purchasing a bottle of wine with which my husband and I would eventually develop a habit of self medicating with. It was on this day that my flow chart failed me.
The cashier that day was in such a happy mood. Contrastingly, I was feeling the sting that comes with facing holidays, markers, and life, honestly, following the untimely death of my son. This woman did not understand my flow chart. She did not understand my system. This woman assumed that I was a mother. I was a mother… but not in the sense she assumed. She asked me, “Are the kids ready for Halloween?” My heart sank. This was a conversation I had dreamed of for so long but not in this context. The flow chart abandoned me. Here’s a little transcript of the mental thought process and words that I actually let come out of my mouth:
How could I respond? Why had I not considered this type of question? Why did I go to shopping on Halloween Eve anyway? —————
“——um, yeah.” Why did I say that? Now what the #&*% is she going to ask me?
Of course, she continued, “What is everyone going as this year?”
More thoughtful silence.——
“——Uh, we haven’t gotten that far yet?”
She was puzzled. “Oh, no? You better figure it out! Where are you going to take them?”
Seriously lady? Give me a break. ——-
“——Um….We’re not doing that this year.”
She gave me a very disappointed look at this point. “Oh no? Why not?”
“———-We are staying in, ok?”
I grabbed my bottle of wine and stormed off. I’ve often wondered what that lady must have thought about me. Did she think I was a bad mother? Did she think I was just a crazy person? Maybe she thought I was drunk.
I learned a very important lesson that day. I need to take my own feelings into consideration within this context and not try to protect other people. I do still use my flow chart from time to time but I worry less about the reaction I’m getting from people. I should have told that woman the truth. It would have saved both of us plenty of frustration.
My son is not a scar I carry or some sort of debilitation. He is a part of me. He is a part of how I function, just the same way that other mothers function around their children. I might do it in a different way but really, I’m just a mother trying to get by. A “normal” mother might struggle in public with a misbehaving child, wishing nobody could see or hear what is going on. She is proud of her child though, and would never consider hiding them from the world. I struggle with being seen as a mother. I’m proud of my son though, and I do not want to hide him from the world.
They knew they wanted more children and have since suffered many early miscarriages during the process of multiple IVF and IUI cycles which have left them with broken hearts.Feeling defeated and alone, the bereaved parents moved to Connecticut in search of a much needed new start.
Amber was inspired to work towards becoming a therapist during her process of trying to find support after her loss. She is currently a freelance graphic designer, artist and marriage and family therapy graduate student. She takes comfort in the idea that their son was a driving force for her to help other people through a time that she and her husband felt so alone.
- On Being Too Sad To Support Me In Celebrating My Son. - April 9, 2018
- Therapeutic Endeavors III: The Letter - January 26, 2018
- Therapeutic Endeavors Part II - January 24, 2018
Thank you for sharing this. It helps me understand my own experience.