after my baby's death, you texted me. or called me. or emailed me. you consider yourself my friend. you didn't expect a response right away, but as the weeks went by, you were surprised not to hear from me. or maybe you did hear from me, but i said something short and vague and we haven't spoken since. you feel uneasy. did you say the wrong thing? are we still friends?
let me start with this: yes, we are still friends.
i have been on the other side of this (by the way, i liked it better there), so i know how hard it is to search for the right words in situations like mine. what i never understood before is that, on the other side (where i stand now), it's actually just as hard. sometimes it feels simply impossible.
"how are you?" you might ask. i can't find the words to tell you. words just don't seem to cover it. "i wish the earth would swallow me up"? "i cry myself to sleep, i wake up crying, i cry whenever i'm alone in the car"? "i ache so much to hold my baby that it is like a physical ache, like a hole in my stomach"? "i want my baby more than i want to breathe"?
i feel like any of these answers would alarm and confuse you. so maybe i say, "hanging in there!" or maybe i say "not great" or maybe i don't say anything at all.
"let me know if you need anything," you say. i appreciate your offer, but i am overwhelmed even thinking about it. if i don't know you that well or we haven't spoken in awhile, i don't feel comfortable asking you for anything, even if i knew what to ask for, which i don't. what do i need? i need to know why my baby died. i need to know i won't go through that again. i need to go back in time and stop it from happening in the first place. i can't have those things, and my brain is too mired in wanting them to want anything else.
(when you left snacks for my kids at my door or offered to take them home from camp, i was so relieved. you made it so easy to say yes by not putting the ball in my court. and you were right: i didn't know i wanted those things, but it helped so much to have them.)
maybe you recently had a baby, or you're pregnant, and now you feel like things are awkward between us. they are, but this is not your fault. it's mine. i'm so sorry. no matter how much i love you, being around you is hard for me right now in ways i never imagined. it's been especially hard watching friends and family who were due after me bring their babies home, knowing that mine is in the ground. every time i see a picture of you and your newborn or your other kids with your newborn, i'm back in the hospital handing my stillborn daughter back to the nurse for the last time. every time i remember you're pregnant, i remember that your baby is still growing and developing, and mine is dead. it makes no sense, it feels petty even to me, and i am hoping that with time, as i learn to accept my new reality, i'll get back in touch with you and rebuild our friendship. i just need the rawness to subside a little.