"Oh, it had a name already?" She kind of scoffed.
I went on to explain to her that I was nearly 7 1/2 months pregnant when he died. That he was born alive. That had he not been as sick as he was he very well might have lived being born at that point.
"He was my son." I said.
"He looked like a person?" She asked.
She went on to say things like "Maybe the spirit wasn't ready but the next one will be," "Maybe stress from school was part of the problem," "You have lots of time to make other babies," "You can't hold on to this," You have to stop thinking about it everyday..."
I've never spoken to her about George since he died. Leif has, briefly, but I have not. While we were trying to save his life she had a vague outline of what was going on but that was the extent of things really. Until this afternoon she has never brought him up and neither have I.
I don't want to get in to too many specifics because ultimately they aren't really relevant but I will say that she was born and raised in a country other than this one. I mention this because she is from a place known for the stoicism and bluntness of its people. She is both stoic and blunt. Very blunt, in fact. So blunt that some of the things that she says can make a lumberjack blush. We normally write her wildly inappropriate dialogue off as cultural differences, which, for the most part is what I believe to be true.
Over time I've discovered that if you can get passed the stoicism and bluntness, she has a good heart. This afternoon I think in her own way she was trying to provide some comfort to me. Knowing that, I wasn't angered by what she said but it did make me a little sad.
I already struggle with the idea that to only a relatively few people in this world was George an actual human being. I think to many he is not a dead son but rather a lost pregnancy; an "it." Some of this, I know, is all in my head. But I am absolutely convinced that some of it is not.
I understand that people are afraid of saying something upsetting or sticking their foot in their mouths. Or that people may think that it isn't their place to say anything at all. Or that if they bring him up it will somehow make things worse for me. Sometimes it takes people awhile to find the confidence to say something. I was once that person who didn't know what to say when a friend had a miscarriage. I get it but I am done accepting it.
Because here it is.
I appreciate her so much more for saying something. Even though it was the "wrong" thing. Even though a simple "I'm sorry for your loss" would have sufficed. It was something.
And that is something.
You know what I mean?
I get it. It was something.
ReplyDeleteEven though many of the comments I heard were inappropriate and often hurtful, the silence was always worse.
And at least when someone speaks you have the chance to tell them about your George.
xxx
Yes, I know what you mean. Something is often far better than nothing.
ReplyDeleteI hear you on the cultural differences thing, too. My mother in law was also raised in another country and is extremely blunt. She's the type of person who has no filter between her brain and her mouth. Whatever happens to go floating through her mind comes out, regardless of whether it is appropriate or not.
I'm glad you got to talk about George, even if it wasn't the ideal conversation.
Wow, Brianna. I had the silence today, from a neighbor that I haven't seen since Otis died. And it stung. Small talk about our dogs doesn't suffice. And I excuse it, telling myself that HER pain makes it so that she doesn't know how to acknowledge mine, but it still stings.
ReplyDeleteReading your experience, though, it hurt me too. I can't imagine my son being referred to as "it." Or "it looked like a person?" Yes, George was a person. A real person. Your son. Your beautiful son. You are kind to recognize her actions as an opportunity to talk about your son, and to say his name, and to give him the honor and respect he deserves. You are kind to not take her words as hurtful or let them sting you.
I totally get the "lost pregnancy" instead of "dead son" thing, too. And it hurts me so much to have Otis relegated to being less than anything other than my beautiful son that lived and breathed here on earth, and tragically left us way too soon. It hurts me to have your George relegated there as well.
sending love,
sarah
I agree, better a tactless conversation than a no-reaction-pretend-it-didn't-happen-and-just-ignore-then-change-the-subject-and-slink-away-kind-of conversation.
ReplyDeleteStill, you are a very understanding woman. Some grieving mothers would take offense at the bluntness of your landlord. But like you said, her culture may have an influence in her thinking.
It's good you had an opportunity to talk about George with her. She seemed genuinely making an effort to understand what you are going through and to give you comfort in her own (blunt and stoic) way.
I definitely hear you, Brianna. I'm still sorry you had to hear such painful words, but I, too, really hate the elephant-in-the-room conversations. We're spending Thanksgiving with my husband's family-- they are not ones to talk much about this kind of thing (or anything, for that matter). I am terrified that we are going to spend the whole day pretending like Hudson never existed, even though it was last Thanksgiving Day when she took her first steps in front of all these same people. Thinking of you and sweet, real, beautiful George.
ReplyDeleteBarb: I don't think people understand how hard the silence is until they have been on the other side of it.
ReplyDeleteJenn: I've been thinking about you all and Alex. I wish I could give you a big hug.
Sarah: I am so sorry that you had that conversation with your neighbor. I can understand your impulse to put aside how you feel for the sake of another person. Yes, people don't know what to say but it gets to be too much to bear at times. Otis should always be recognized as your son. I am so sorry that sometimes his loss goes unacknowledged.
Jennifer: Yes, better tactless than nothing at all. Tactless I can understand. Silence I can't handle anymore.
Mandy: I've been thinking a lot about you and your husband recently. I know the holidays are going to be so difficult for your family. I hope that the rest of the family will be able to find their voices and honor Hudson this Thanksgiving.
Yep - I think I'd rather take a bumbling comment that is at least well-meant and open to discussion than the topic-shifting or silence that you sometimes get. I'm noticing that among our friends / family, there are the ones who speak her name and say something, even when they don't know if they have the right words, and then there are the ones with their hand on the ruddder of the conversation, steering carefully and diligently away from anything that might touch on babies / pregnancy / car accidents. Which in itself is a form of care, but it inevitably means we've got less to share with those people, as this grief is so much a part of our lives that it can't really be steered around without avoiding a real connection.
ReplyDeleteThe "you can't hold onto this" line I find harder to deal with, but I guess it is coming from someone fortunate enough to be ignorant on what losing a child feels like.
amazing photo too.
You have a beautiful blog. I agree that I appreciate when people try to say something to me about Claire, then ignore the fact that she lived completely. I had to start work this week and people fall into three categories. Those that welcome me back but don't address why I was gone, those that ignore me completely and those that are comfortable enough to not only welcome me back, but offer me help AND comment on how beautiful she was (I've got pictures all around). The second group of people bother me the most because they aren't acknowledging my daughter or me. I know that it is fear, but I don't think fear should ever supercede sympathy. I hope I wasn't like that, but honestly, I don't know for sure. I like to hope that people really do the best they can do, and that's what I'm trying to do for my daughter.
ReplyDeleteLetterstoClaire: Thank you for visiting. I am so sorry that people at work have chosen to obey their fear over their better judgment and express to you their condolences. Let me express mine and say I am sorry for the loss of Claire. I hope that work becomes easier with time. I know it is so hard to go back and face those kind of obvious omissions. It is shameful.
ReplyDelete((hugs)) I hear you.
ReplyDeletesometimes people just want to say something but do not know what to say. I wish it had been a gentler conversation though.