Sigh. Facebook.
Here's what I just posted as my update: Karen can't believe it's already September.
Here's what I really wanted to post: Karen really didn't think she'd make it through the summer after her baby boy grew wings. And now here it is, September. I've kept on keeping on.
I debated, I really did, whether to post how I really feel. But I don't want to make people uncomfortable. It would seem not nice somehow to bring everyone who reads my status update down (very Canadian of me I suppose). Plus, my father's wife is on Facebook and if there's even a whiff of sadness in my updates my father gets very anxious and upset. He's been widowed twice and the death of our baby seems to have stirred up a lot of feelings in him. My Dad wants to make sure that I'm fine, that I'm okay. If I let him know I'm having a rough day he calls me over and over and tries to make me feel better saying, "It should have been me" [thanks, but how does that make your daughter feel better?!] or "It must have been for the best." Aaaaaaah.
And so I come to my blog where I can let it all out. I don't have to pretend I'm back to "normal" and somehow, although I'm sad, I can actually breathe a little easier. It's hard work hiding feelings as strong as those a babylost mumma feels every waking minute.
I'm sitting here with tears streaming down my face. I just had a call from the cable company regarding an outstanding balance. I always pay bills straight away and I could swear I've paid them over and over this summer. I logged into online banking while the cable rep was on the phone. I told her tearfully that it's been a rough summer, that we'd lost our baby (I can share that with nameless, faceless people in call centres), and I'm not usually one to be late for paying anything. I used to be a details person.
Guess what? I did pay the cable company. Several times. Over and over apparently. Just not to the right account number because that changed when we moved at the end of June and I didn't catch that.
Well, I guess the good news is that I don't have to pay for cable for a few months yet because of the huge credit she just transferred over to the correct account. And it felt really good to cry and tell a total stranger that it's been hard just going day to day since my baby died.
Posts
A Final Goodbye
12 years ago
6 comments:
I also find that I can't tell people how I really feel. On the few occasions when I have done this, people haven't wanted to hear about it, or have just ignored it. I get a lot more comments on facebook by posting "I'm playing badminton this afternoon" than when I write "I'm missing Lachlan this afternoon". I'm glad that you can come here and be yourself. I'm here and reading your words and listening to whatever you have to say, whether it's sad or happy (or both or neither!).
I feel really sad for you. I know your journey is horrific. It makes me so angry that so many women have to live their lives without their precious children.
I know what you mean about Facebook. You have to watch what you say. I have a niece who did some quiz on morning sex and her 13 year old commented saying "Oh mom that's so gross"
I will pray for your comfort. I am also saddened by the fact that you have to be affraid of mentioning your childs death as not to offend anyone. You need to talk about it and don't worry about who you offend. That is their bad!
Thank you. It's a relief to have women who understand our headspace, isn't it? Sad we share this experience of grieving and not something like badminton.... But a relief.
I know what you mean, I find that sometimes I put messages on facebook that I think are easier for people to hear... like my grief is inconveniencing them.
It is definitely a nice outlet to blog away what you are really feeling. I find that when I tell people how I am really doing, it sometimes makes them feel uncomfortable, like they need to fix me. Lots and lots of hugs..
sometimes Karen I DO just write how I feel- and then I feel bad and delete it with something more positive. But I'm a bit sick of hiding behind pleasentries-barf.
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