Trusting people with your grief and with your sadness is not easy. Kyle and I have what we call our bubble. These are the people we trust with Ramona's memory and the people who understand how much she means to us. The people who don't question our sadness, our isolation, our anger, and all the other feelings that come when you lose your only child.
Our bubble is small, but supportive. We are gradually bringing more people into the bubble, but in the beginning it was hard to let people in. To let people in, you have to trust they will never question your love and your pain. They will never question the validity of your child's life. This is hard for people. They want to comfort you, and they think that comfort means making it better and putting things in perspective.
There is no perspective when your child dies. I can assure you. It is not better that she died before we got to know her. It did not happen for a reason. Maybe we'll have more children, but maybe not. Even if we do, we never get to parent Ramona. Each day, week, month, eventually years, brings another bundle of firsts we will never experience, that she will never experience.
We go through each day with a smile plastered on our faces, because we know when people ask 'how are you' they don't want to hear 'really shitty.' A friend asked me if I'd rather not have people ask how we're doing, and I said yes. I'd rather they not ask. Not unless they are willing to hear the real answer. I'm not into small talk anymore.
Sometimes I get home from work and my face hurts from forcing a smile for nine hours. My heart hurts from the people who back away when they ask how the baby's doing and I tell them she died. My hands hurt from clenching to restrain myself from typing something I don't mean to people who text or email and don't mention Ramona's name. The one thing I told people brings us comfort when they asked what they can do for us, they can't do.
Her first birthday should be in two weeks. Some days it looms in the distance, a dark volcano we're slowing moving towards with no way of turning back. Part of me is nervous that no one will remember, that we'll get the usual cheery "Merry Christmas" messages without a mention of Ramona. I hope people know better, I hope they remember her and say her name. Trust is the hardest part about grief. Trusting people will remember your child, trusting that there is something good on the horizon, trusting the world holds more than suffering.
I've had this post of yours open in a browser for few weeks now. (No, I never turn my computer off.) And, I think I commented on it briefly on Ramona's birthday (on glow) because it is so true and often extremely difficult to explain... and seems to be a completely foreign concept to the nonbereaved.
ReplyDelete"My hands hurt from clenching to restrain myself from typing something I don't mean to people who text or email and don't mention Ramona's name. The one thing I told people brings us comfort when they asked what they can do for us, they can't do."
This exact sentiment has gripped me so many times over the past 11 and 1/2 months since my son Zachary died. My husband asked for people to say his name, during his funeral eulogy, I've since reinforced the concept, and yet people either don't feel capable or acknowledging, or maybe feel like it's been to long to mention they are "still" thinking of him, of us. It continues to hurt when it seems he is forgotten.
I would also people stop asking me how I am. My son is dead..., on top of my other son having died seven years previous. I am devastated. No one wants to hear that. I feel like I have to put on a suit of armor just to leave the house this past year. To deflect the pleasantries that people seem to believe I'd like to participate in.
I've been meaning to tell you how much this post resonated for me and why, and I've finally gotten to it. I am sorry that Ramona's name is not effortlessly spoken by everyone you know. I am sorry you have to narrow your circle of trust because of her death.
May I link to this post, at some point when I touch on this topic on my own blog?
Gretchen, I'm glad this resonated with you. I have read so many things this past year that have made me feel that way and I'm honored you feel that way about something I wrote. I don't know how but I don't have your blog in my feed reader yet, so I'm going to do that now. I don't mind if you link to it, either. I'm really interested on your thoughts about trust as well. I can imagine what it's like trying to maintain the memories of both your sons and it makes me so upset.
ReplyDeleteThis struck me: "To deflect the pleasantries that people seem to believe I'd like to participate in." It's been a year and some days I still feel like it's too much work to leave the house because I can't take one more person asking me what's new or tells me 'hope you're doing well!!!'