Purely
coincidental, waiting for transfer day and October have synced
together. With the next step in our IVF process a few weeks out, I
wanted to write more on my infertility journey. And in my case that
includes miscarriages. October has been designated as the Pregnancy &
Infant Loss Awareness month. One in four women will experience such a
loss. I won’t call myself an advocate. I can’t fit into that
world. I’ll also leave the gentle posts to others that are better
equipped to handle it. For many, a dark abyss forms, both in heart
and mind, and you must contemplate the decision to let it consume
you. And even if you fight it, that darkness still gets its piece and
leaves an emptiness. All the while, as you face this struggle,
majority of the world will be apathetical. I am not delusional enough
to think that people who don’t know me would have any feelings
about me. However, I, like plenty of loss moms, do know the sting of
being dismissed by the people around you. I could be polite and say
it’s because they don’t understand. Well, I call bullshit on
that. We have all listened to the troubles and tragedies of others
that we can’t relate to. Often we just want validation that our
pain is real and is okay to feel. I fathom that the awkwardness of
the conversation makes people hesitate, but I don’t find this the
biggest issue. After initial sympathies are offered(if any at all),
very rarely is there any follow-up. Why does this irritate me?
Because I am inundated with constant melodramatic wailing about the
importance of mental well-being and how people should support
everyone. This is puffery in the sense that we have that kind of
capacity. It is also dubious since I rarely see any action that
accompanies all the Facebook and Twitter posts that boast about love.
One
moment a women is being offered the promise of happiness. In the
next, she essentially experiences a mini labor, her insides twisting
and contracting,. That longingness she wished for has been expelled.
She is left hollowed out. I do mean this both literally and
figuratively. And too often she sits reeling from the catastrophe and
the hormonal upheaval alone. Why is it now no one can submit a
shoulder to cry on or bring food? Whether, these babies only lived in
the womb or had the briefest of moments in their parents’ arms,
they were our children and they were loved.
I
know I’m rambling a bit. However, how you been in a room full of
family members and not one comes up to you and express any kind of
sympathy? I have. And it would kind of sucks, but I long ago came to
accept that I’m not someone who people bother about. My mental and
emotional state is dependent mostly on myself. This is just me,
however, plenty of women need to connect with family and friends.
Each
women experiences their loss differently. Each will tell (or not)
their stories in their own way. Each will, hopefully, find a path to
healing in their own time. But many would like to be remembered after
life has seemingly returned to normal. Some need more support. Others
would just like someone to ask: “How are you doing?” The
acknowledgment that their child existed can do wonders. There’s a
burden of feeling like you are the only one who remembers your baby.
The arbitrary way your grief is treated isolates you.
Sentiments
have a place. Pretty words might work for some. Actions. Making an
effort. This is what I see as meaningful.
If
we want to work on being more compassionate, then we should start by
being aware of the people closest to us. I believe a more local focus
helps us build a bigger picture. Otherwise, it’s just posturing.
Nope,
not an advocate. I’m probably the jerk you think I am. Have a
string of displeased people in my wake that agree. I’m just tired
of people’s idea of “helping” is to do a fun run. Or whatever
viral fad is making the rounds. We want the appearance of being a
good person because we neglect to actually BE one. Not saying we’re
inherently evil, but not as humanitarian as the facade we don.
Sorry,
if this post became disjointed. When I witness the opposite of what
I’m being forced-fed, well, my eyes are still rolling. And even
though I don’t fit in with the specialty groups I’m a member of,
I still want to see a better support bridge in place.
