suck it up

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Login: abcdefg
Password: lilly****
Password Hint: your only one

My sister-in-law is building a website for Brian's business, and is also handling the nitty-gritty of domains, hosting, passwords, etc. And we're very grateful, because she is talented and because she is doing this for free. But come on. Seriously?

Password: lilly
Password hint: your only one

This from the person who sent us beautiful cards and poems, who cried with Brian on the phone, who remembered our first anniversary of loss. But people, even the best of our people, are starting to forget...

your only one

She doesn't know that these words feel like a punch. She doesn't know the look on Brian's face when we talked about it. She doesn't get how this moment of pain will resonate through our evening, how it will trigger a cascade of anger and longing and sadness. She doesn't get how stupid and wholly unavoidable this moment of pain was. Just don't type those words to us. Just don't.

It's not that she's trying to be cruel. It's not really even that she's forgotten what happened. She's just forgotten what it means. She's forgotten how we feel. She's forgotten we will feel like this forever.

My therapist told me that if I don't keep my daughter and this loss on people's radar, it won't stay on their radar. And it's up to me to decide how I want to do it. Unfair, but true.

I want to write back and say thank you so much for this that and the other, and oh by the way, Lilly is not our only one: we are still missing one here.

Brian feels it would not be worth the ensuing drama. And we talked about that. Doesn't our country have a big problem with the silence that surrounds grief and loss? Doesn't our silence just contribute to the problem? Yes, absolutely. But if we speak up, will the person on the other end hear what we want them to hear? Sister-in-law would hear that we are offended. She might feel sad. She might be offended that we took offense. Either way, this would not necessarily prompt her to reflect on our cultural problem of grief management.

So I look at myself. Do I want to speak up to help solve a national grieving problem? Or do I want to speak up because I am pissed off? Well, duh.

I won't write back. Brian and I are very careful around family boundaries. He'll talk to her about it if he feels the timing right. And if it was my sibling who had caused some pain around here, I would want to be the one to handle it.

But I will bitch about it here, because I can. I hate this kind of hurtful stupidity. It is a careless, shoddy, shabby way of relating. And I do it too. We all do. We say the wrong thing. We drop the ball. We forget our audience. It's so common. But I still hate it. I hate the stupid, thoughtless comments more than I hate the kind but off-target advice. More than I hate the silence.

Well, you know, spirits come and go.
Why aren't you excited about the holidays this year?
Having just two grandchildren is perfect.
I know you think of yourself as a mother...
Lilly = your only one.

Come on people, this is the easy stuff to avoid. You know me. I am your friend. I am your family member. Can we all stop living in la la land where babies don't die and parents don't grieve? I really have been very nice about it. Not too troublesome at all. I have not yelled at any of you or sobbed too long on the phone or made you listen to me talk about my dead baby for hours. I have attended your weddings and funerals and social functions. I have dressed appropriately, with hair combed, and engaged in polite conversation. I have nodded and smiled and gently explained and kept it to myself and lashed out at no one.

So please, please, please, try to get the easy stuff right. I can only suck it up for so long.

I will now go make myself feel better by watching Angie's hilarious creation. Again.