In my new life as a cyber stalker, I have been lurking all over dead baby land, reading, "listening", comparing notes, laughing, crying and generally just sitting in utter amazement as to the sheer number of us who are walking around in our new "shoes". Doesn't it just shock the hell out of you how many of us are here???? And I think to myself for every one of us who are blogging there has to be at least two or three who aren't. At least. And then I go back to the awful statistics, you know them,... after 12 weeks gestation 90-95% survival, after 20 weeks 97% survival, after 26 weeks 98%, after 30 weeks 99% etc. etc. and yet here we all are, the 1, 2 or 3% living on the wrong side of the numbers. It's like my husband said, makes you want to run out and buy a lottery ticket...except that we've all learned it SUCKS to be on the wrong side of the numbers and why add insult to injury? Does that make sense?
Anyway, back to my original post. We all live here in cyber land and it's like home. It feels like the "shoe fits", pardon the pun in re my earlier blog. I mean, the other dead baby moms just get it. When I read a post from another mom's blog and then read the comments, it's so obvious who is a dead baby mom and who is not. That is not to say that the "shoeless" don't matter or don't have important things to say but the difference is glaring. I am struck by how almost without exception a dead baby mom will comment with a similar experience, feeling, or just a "I know, I'm here". While the innocents will respond with a whole bunch of suggestions on how to deal with whatever it is that was blogged about, how to handle that particular issue, a whole book on "How to...." in fact. Even tho they have never "HAD TO".
So it occurs to me, that maybe the reason we all (mostly) blog anonymously and the reason we all find so much strength and comfort here and the reason we can't or don't talk like this IRL is that (1) we can be utterly and at times offensively honest, (2) we know we are talking to someone who just knows, (3) we aren't looking for answers necessarily, just ears and (4) we don't want anyone to "Fix Us", this is us. Leave it. Alone.
Just to be clear, I am not trashing anyone, especially not anyone who reached out and said, "I am here, tell me what I can do?". I am just saying to everyone else, "Stop trying to fix me, you can't."
it was all for the best,
that something was probably wrong.
it was meant to be.
same miserable song.
"You can have another!"
As if that would make it alright.
"It was not a real child."
Somebody's not very bright.
Somebody thinks it is helpful
To say when grieving should end.
Somebody shows their true colors.
Somebody isn't a friend.
But somebody said, "I'm sorry."
And sat quietly by my side.
And somebody shared my sorrow
And held my hand when I cried.
And somebody always listened
And called my lost baby by name.
And somebody understood
That I'd never be the same.
*Thanks Olive Lucy:)