Friends can make you feel that the world is smaller and less sneaky than it really is, because you know people who have similar experiences.
—Lemony Snicket, The Austere Academy
I have just had a slap-in-the-face-come-back-down-to-earth kind of moment. Last time, I said I had created a beautiful haven where everyone was aware of what I was going through and everyone was supportive and helpful. And then came the slap. It started yesterday when I was told to stop whining every time someone gets pregnant. I hung up on that person. And today, I was told I needed to be on medication. I couldn't even hang up. I had to lecture.
After the fact, I must consider...is this just my own fault? I have done just as Lemony Snicket there warned and surrounded myself with people with similar experiences. Of course they understand! Unfortunately, the other billion people I encounter are NOT going to understand--probably ever. They think that I should be over it, that my impending due date shouldn't mean anything, and if it does then it's off to the pharmacy with me! But honestly, that reality check is to be expected when I try to build this little virtual grief world for myself.
On February 19, 2012, the world did not, in fact, stop turning. Clocks across the globe did not stop. People did not, surprisingly, get a memo about Carpenter's death. (Although how convenient would THAT have been?) Knowing this, my question is, how do I approach the "real" world? That world that kept turning while my life screeched to a halt. Is there any point to the hang-ups and the lectures? Or am I forever to toe the line, smiling and congratulating every pregnant woman and new baby and never mention my grief?I have decided, NO. I will not kowtow. I will be strong, yes, and in time I'm sure I will appreciate the beauty of a pregnant woman or a newborn child. But I will also allow others to see my grief when it hits me. I will not hide it. Because I am tired of hearing every angel-mom talk about this same experience. I'm tired of us being told to "get over it." My son existed, exists in my life every day, and some things about that fact hurt so badly there are no words to describe. I do not need to stop whining. I do not need to be medicated. I need to show the world that what I am experiencing is normal. Maybe each person I meet will understand better the next angel-mom they meet. I know I've had my share of learning experiences these past few months.