Disconnect

My last post was about connections with amazing babylost mamas and papas who hold me up, but this post is about the people who knock me down.

I've been keeping a list in my head of the idiotic things that people have said to me in the wake of Ezra dying. But someone today won the grand prize. I thought it had gone to the person who sent me a card after Ezra died saying "as a health professional, I believe these things are generally for the best" (as a health professional apparently she's an idiot, there was nothing wrong with Ezra!) But a woman today just stole the trophy.

Some of you know that I'm a lawyer who represents parents in the child welfare system (more on that some other time, this post is not about my personal crisis of whether I can still do my work or not). So I run into a children and youth caseworker I know today on the bus, a woman with whom I have a friendly relationship. And the following conversation ensues between me and this dumb idiot bitch (we'll call her DIB)...i'm not usually one to call names but this calls for it.

DIB: Oh hi Sarah, how ARE you? You headed to court?
Me: Um no, I'm not handling cases right now, you know what happened right, my baby died (I knew she knew)
DIB: Oh yes, I try to forget about things like that.
...long pause while I pick my jaw off the floor...
Me: Well I can't forget.
DIB: Oh of course, you shouldn't...

DIB then spends the rest of the bus ride talking about herself. About how she still hasn't divorced her husband who hits her. About how she relapsed and went on a one month drinking binge. About how she came to work drunk and is now on probation submitting to random urine screens.

So I guess her life is screwed up. But as Barbara wrote about the other day, I didn't realize this was a grief competition. And while her problems are obviously awful, they are all fixable. Sure it will take hard work, but it is within her power. No amount of effort on my part will ever bring back Ezra. I only wish.

I don't care enough about this woman to put her in her place and tell her how inappropriate her response was. But I guess what it underscored for me is what a lonely misfit I feel like these days. I just feel so disconnected. Although some people have been wonderful and supportive, many seem to have absolutely no ability to understand that my heart will always be broken, that I will never be the same person I was before and I will continue to need lots and lots of support going forward. Gal posted a wonderful list that I have seen a few times before about how to support a babylost mama. I feel like I should have cards with this list printed up to hand out wherever I go.

Its a lonely world out here without my baby...

Connections

Tonight we went to a different support group than we've been attending, run by UNITE. We connected with amazing babylost mamas and papas, who lost their beloved babies at all stages of pregnancy and after birth, both recently and longer ago. We lit candles in honor of our grief, our memories, our love and our hope.

The connections run deep between us babylost parents, we have all washed up on this lonely shore where we never imagined ourselves. I could not imagine surviving this journey without this new found community, both online and here. The reflections of myself in all of you are why I still have hope.

Candles for Our Babies

Remembering our babies and children tonight...

Ezra

Sam

Lev

Tikva

Hope

George

Alice

Silas

Bill's daughter

And many many more babies & children who are loved and missed by their parents every day...

We said Ezra's name as we lit the purple candle

And the other babies' names as we lit the candles clockwise

And the white candle in the back is for all the rest

All the babies whose lives were cut short

Who didn't live to see this day

Or any of the days to come

We miss you babies.

We miss you Ezra.

We love you Ezra,

and all your spirit friends.

Light a Candle this Sunday

This Sunday December 14th is the annual worldwide candlelighting in honor of all our lost children. The day honors children of any age, who have left this world before their time. David and I will be lighting a candle for Ezra, and also for his spirit baby friends, Sam, Lev, Tikva, Hope, George and many others with whom we know he plays every day. Too many babies, too many children, too many mamas and papas left behind. Join us in lighting a candle if you wish.

Spending the day with Ezra

In a beautiful post about a month ago on Glow in the Woods, Jen writes:

There are days that are darker than others. I want to call the office and be free to say, “Sorry, but I just can’t do it. It’s all meaningless don’t you see, because today I’ll be useless to anyone but her. She’s dead and I can’t bear to wash my hair and I really just need to stay at home to be with her.” I start to cry in the shower and hate the world for expecting me to stop and get on with it. The only her left for me to be with is not one anyone else understands.

This post could have been written by me today. Because after two days of crying on and off in my office with the door shut this week, Ezra and I decided that we just needed to stay home. Just needed time to stay home and be sad about all the things we'll never get to do together...the walks we won't have and the play time we won't get...the nursing he won't do and the friends he won't meet.

And Ezra and I are tired. Tired of hearing how strong I am or how good I look. We don't feel strong at all. We're tired of hearing people's excuses for why they didn't call or write or visit after Ezra died. An extraordinary number of people did, and for that we're grateful. My son knows he is loved and has an amazing extended community who loves him. But neither of us have the energy right now to deal with the people who didn't. Wasn't Ezra's life worth enough to take two seconds out of your busy day? It's not that we're angry at these people...we're just not interested...Ezra and I are working through enough right now without having to deal with other people's baggage. It's hard enough figuring out how to parent a dead child without adding others' expectations to the mix.

Mostly Ezra and I are lonely, and strange as it may sound, being around other people sometimes reinforces the loneliness. Grief is so isolating, because most (not all) people don't see what I see...that I carry my dead baby everywhere I go. He's with me at the office and in a meeting, on the bus and at coffee with a friend. And the people that love me and want me to heal don't seem to see that my heart is broken...forever. Don't be fooled by the occasional smile or laugh, or even the days when my mood is lighter...I'm still carrying Ezra in one arm and my broken heart in my other hand.

So Ezra and I are spending the day together.
Because Ezra needs his mommy.
And mommy needs Ezra.
Together
Forever
We will be.

Please don't ask me if I'm better

Recently, many more people than usual have been asking me when I expect I'll "feel better." It surprises me, because even the people who have been the most supportive, and understand on some level that grief is a journey, have been asking me this question. Usually they don't ask directly, but rather ask what the timetable for 'feeling better' is like for mamas who have lost their babies. I don't get angry about this question anymore, but rather it just feels irrelevant. Mostly because 'feeling better' is not something I expect from myself right now, and given the range of emotions I feel in any given day...sadness, anger, despair, shame....'feeling better' just isn't a goal I've set for myself. It seems like our society only values feeling good as a valid emotion...we're expected to either hide or fix all the dark emotions. Slowly but surely, I've been reading Miriam Greenspan's Healing through the Dark Emotions and its very validating. Because they only way I can imagine surviving losing Ezra, is to allow myself to just be where I am right now, which is just so very very sad.

Too Blue

This week has been a hard one. The weekend of 3 month anniversaries (death and then birth) passed with a certain numbness, but Monday morning felt like I'd fallen off a cliff again, down to the low blueness of it all. I've said this to a few people individually, but I just don't feel I'm fit for public consumption. I'm just too too sad to deal with the rest of the world.

It's been hitting me this week that the world really is moving on...holidays to be celebrated, babies being born, people trying something new. And I can't share the excitement of any of it. I'm not in a celebratory mood. Still doubting my ability to feel joy again.

But its not just the celebrating thats a problem. I'm finding it pretty hard to be excited about anything. Even projects that I otherwise would have enjoyed or found interesting before Ezra died. It all seems so mundane and pointless now.

Now that I'm back working, I interact with more people day by day. The people who know about Ezra and offer the guilty platitudes about how they were thinking of me and should have called (not interested people! i know who my real friends are now). And the people who either don't know or choose to ignore and say nothing. I'm not sure how anyone can expect me to function the way I used to. Still need that sign for my forehead that says 'my baby died and i am not, nor will i ever be ok!'