Dear Friend,
Congratulations. Please understand that I am trying to be happy for you. Please understand that I wish you and your baby nothing but the best. Please know that I love you.
But, please also understand that when you just announced your pregnancy, my heart literally hurt. Please know that I am holding back the torrent of tears that I will unleash when I get home. Please understand that while I am trying to be happy for you and your growing family, I am also deeply saddened for myself and my much longed-for, forever missed family. Please know that when you tell me of the tiny human you are growing inside of you, it makes me wish desperately that I was able to hold and raise the two tiny humans that I once grew inside of me.
When you tell me of your pregnancy, I will try to act like my normal self, like my old self would have before I lost my two angels. I will tell you congratulations. I will smile. I will find the strength to persevere through another announcement. I’m glad you told me of your pregnancy. I’m happy that you are able to share your joy with me. I really want to be able to share in the bliss with you. But I honestly just can’t right now.
I wish you could have given me a warning of your announcement before it was made. I need to mentally prepare for these kinds of things. When announcements are unexpectedly sprung on me, I feel like a firefighter rushing into the flames with no gear. I’m not prepared for this and haven’t protected myself from the heat that I’m about to encounter. It takes me days to recover from the sting and burns.
I wish that it was easier for you to acknowledge how hard this is on me. Just as I want no harm to come to you or your baby, I know that you didn’t want anything bad to happen to me or my children. But my babies died. I know it is hard to admit that this happens, especially when you are carrying your own offspring. But please know how healing it is for me to hear, “I’m really sorry for everything you are going through. I’m sorry about your babies’ deaths. I wish that things were different. This must be so, so difficult for you.”
I’m going to try really hard to remain friends with you. I’m going to attempt to continue to go to your house, even as your belly begins to expand. But please understand how very, very difficult it is for me to be with you. Please know that I will try to ask questions about your pregnancy. I will attempt to show interest. But understand that at times, it can get too hard, too overwhelming. I know all too well that your baby’s arrival may not come the way you expect. My bitterness may spill over and I may remind you that you, too, aren’t guaranteed a living child. Trust me, I don’t want you to experience this pain. But I am jealous of the naivety and innocence that you possess thinking that it would never happen to you. I was once in your shoes, but never will be again.
Please remember, friend, that I will NOT be sympathetic to your complaints about morning sickness. I will NOT pity any aches you may have. Please do not approach me with any of your pregnancy woes. I wish I had those problems in my pregnancies. I would endure any amount of pain or hell just to be able to bear a living child. I am not the person to turn to with complaints because I will not be empathetic.
Dear friend, I am trying to stay positive. I am attempting to stay excited for you. I don’t know if you fully understand how much I wish I could be happy for you. I don’t think you fully comprehend the amount of bitterness that I’m trying to combat. So, please, forgive me for not being as excited for you as you deserve. I’m trying; I promise. Please, be patient and understanding with me. I will forever grieve and will never be fully healed, but my goal is to one day muster the full amount of joy for you and your offspring that you deserve.
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Thank you for this, Kelly. I, too, am a special education teacher with a husband named Steve. Our stories are somewhat similar, but our feelings are definitely the same. My son, Nathan, was stillborn on July 3, 2016 the day after his due date. The thought of anyone else in my life getting pregnant completely knocks the wind out of me. I know life goes on, and I really do want to be happy for everyone else’s little miracles, but I also want others to understand what we’re going through. I would never want anyone to experience the loss of a child, but with that being said, very few people will ever truly know how we’re feeling and grieving. I want to go back to the time when we were happy and naive, when we could wish on stars instead of look for our babies in them. I wish you and your family peace and comfort- especially with the dreaded holiday season upon us. Thank you again for making me feel less alone!
Thank you for putting into words something that I struggle so much to. Our stories are different, but I lost my baby girl in August. It seems that other people’s lives just continue when mine has come crashing down. You’ve reminded me that it’s ok to stay in this place whilst others don’t and that it’s ok to not be ok. Your blogs are so beautiful. Thank you for sharing a piece of your heart.
I’m so sorry for the loss of your baby girl! It is so, so difficult to watch others’ lives go on and to be assaulted with the barrage of feelings that we would rather not feel. But please know that it is natural to feel these emotions and that you are not alone. Thank you so much for your kind words! Sending many good thoughts your way!