08-7-2009 - Do\'s and Dont\'s

My mood while writing this blog: Ok

Miscarriage Etiquette

Don’t say “it’s God’s will.” Many terrible things are God’s will—that doesn’t make them less terrible it is not in itself a blessing.

Don’t say “it was for the best—there was probably something wrong with your baby.” The fact that something was wrong with the baby—or with me—is what makes me so sad. My baby never even had a chance. Please don’t try to comfort me by pointing that out.

Don’t say “you can always have another one.” Maybe I will not be able to get pregnant again you dont know that i will, and My baby was not disposable or replaceable. None of my children are disposable. I would have died for this baby, just as you would die for your children.

Don’t say “be grateful for the children you do have.” If your sister died in a car accident, you would be grieved terribly. The fact that you may still have other sisters alive does not take away the grief over the loss of your one. Other children do not in any way replace the baby I have lost.

Don’t say “be thankful you lost the baby before you loved it.” I did love my baby. I still do love my baby. Whether I lost the baby just after finding out he existed in my tummy, or after delivering full-term, my heart would be overflowing with love for this baby.

Don’t say “be thankful you lost the baby before you knew it.” This is far from comforting to a parent who so desperately wanted to spend years knowing this baby. I ached to know my baby.

Don’t say “isn’t it time you got over this and moved on?” Being stricken with grief is not enjoyable. I wish this had never happened. But it did, and it is now part of me forever. The grief will ease on its own timeline—not mine, most certainly not yours—but the grief in some capacity will always be part of me. Don’t make me feel like I have to ignore my grief just to make you feel better.

Don’t say “you’ll get to meet the baby in heaven someday.” As true as I believe this is—and I praise God for it—I honestly wanted this baby to bury me in my old age, not to bury my baby in its infancy.

Don’t say “I understand how you feel.” Unless you’ve lost a child, you have no idea how I feel. And even if you have lost a child, remember that everyone experiences grief differently.

Don’t tell me horror stories of your neighbor or cousin or mother who “had it worse.” The last thing I need to hear right now is that it is possible to have this happen six or twelve times, or that I could carry until two days before my due-date and labor 20 hours for a dead baby. These stories are horrifying and frightening; they leave me sleepless and weeping. Happy ending or not, do not share these stories with me. I have had enough grief and terror and weeping of my own.

Don’t pretend it didn’t happen and don’t change the subject when I bring it up. If I say “before the baby died” or “when I was pregnant” don’t get scared or clam-up. If I am talking about it, it means I want to. I may need to. Let me. Pretending it didn’t happen will only make me feel utterly alone. Pretending my baby didn’t exist is a falsehood and breaks my heart.

Don’t say “it’s not your fault.” Whether it’s my fault or not doesn’t make a difference. This tiny little person depended on my womb to nourish and care for him, and apparently I couldn’t do it. For whatever reason. I was supposed to care for her for a lifetime, but couldn’t even carry him for nine months. You can not even imagine how angry and confused I am at my body right now.

Don’t say “well, maybe you shouldn’t have another baby right now anyway” or “you weren’t too sure about having this baby right now.” I feel so guilty for ever having complained about exhaustion or morning sickness or the financial repercussions of another child. I would give anything in the world to be dead tired and puking up a storm right now. I would go into debt ten times to have my baby back in my tummy.

Don’t say “it will happen when it’s supposed to” or “look on the bright side” or “here, just take my kids” or “kids aren’t all they’re cracked up to be anyway.” This minimizes my grief and mocks my heartache.

Don’t say “maybe you aren’t meant to have more children” or “you can always adopt” or “what about finding a surrogate?” or “you’re still young, you can try again.” These make me realize that you have no comprehension of my pain, no compassion for our loss, and don’t understand the problem. If I had a broken arm, responses like these would be ridiculous. These don’t apply to me. Be sensitive to that.

Don’t say “there are plenty of people who are happy without kids or with only one kid” or something like that. You have no idea what our hopes and dreams are, what size family we hope for, or why we want (more) children. The fact that some people don’t have children has nothing to do with us. Please respect the fact that we want a large family. There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting more kids. And the fact that our baby had died does not in any way indicate that our desires are inappropriate.

Don’t say “oh please don’t cry.”Let me cry in slience. I need to, more than you can ever imagine.

Don't say "be thankfulit happened early" It doesn tmatter weather I found out I had a little baby growing inside me 6 days, 6 weeks 6 months or 9 months ago...my baby died and I love that baby the moment I know he was growninginside me!

Don't say "you'll get through this" I KNOW we will get through this.... life does go on BUT right now I need to cry be sad and bitter and let myslef heal emotionally my own way in my own time!

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Do recognize that I have suffered a death in my family—not a medical condition.

Do recognize that in addition to the physical aftereffects I may experience, I am going to be grieving for quite some time. Please remember to treat me as you would any person who has endured the tragic death of a loved one.

Do say “I am so sorry.” Or even “I am so sad for you.” That’s enough. You don’t need to be eloquent. Sometimes what you think may be eloquent or helpful really just digs the wound deeper into my heart.

Do send flowers or a short note—every acknowledgement like that reminds me that my baby’s life meant something, that my baby was loved.

Do feel free to offer to bring over a meal or even just a cup of coffee. But don’t be offended if you arrive and I need you to simply drop it off and head home. I might not be able to predict what days will be good and what days will be particularly trying. If I invite you in, please come visit and mourn with me. But if I don’t, please give me a hug, drop off the food, and understand that I will visit with you at some other future time.

Do refer to my baby as a baby. Please don’t forget that this is a member of our family, not a medical issue that happened one day.

Do understand that I may need some time and space. If I don’t respond to phone calls, please don’t resent that. Or if I avoid group activities for a while. Help me by not needing anything from me for a while.

Do understand if I do not attend baby showers (or similar activities) for a while. And don’t ask why I can’t come. Please don’t take this personally or resent me for it.

Do be considerate, and don’t share pregnancy or baby news with me until I ask. It’s not that I can’t be happy for anyone else, it’s simply that every smiling, cooing baby or every glowing round new mommy makes me ache so deep in my heart that I can barely keep from exploding. Please help me keep away from temptation, and protect me from news that would simply enhance my heartache.

Do remember that although I may look okay to you—I may even be smiling and tear-free—there is a good chance that I am still barely able to get myself dressed each day and cry myself to sleep every night. It may be weeks or months before I can go a whole hour without thinking about my barren womb or my dead child.

Do keep in mind that this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me and my family. The word “miscarriage” is small and easy. But my baby’s death is monolithic and devastating. It takes much time to figure out how to live with it. Please bear with me.

Do remember that this applies to Andrew as well as to me. Please deal kindly and compassionately with him.