When Dragon was born we were flooded with presents. The deluge continued for months and months. It
was an overwhelming outpouring of generosity – toys, books, baby gear and
clothes, so many clothes! But that jaded bereaved part of me always felt that
some of the gift giving was compensation for A’s death. Like people felt so bad
and pitied us so much that when the opportunity arose to shower us and our
newest, living baby with presents, they went above and beyond, overcompensating
for their own sorrow and discomfort and for our pain as well.
This shouldn’t bother me. I feel like a jerk even thinking
it. I wish I could just shut that part of me up and be grateful that so many
people in our lives care about us and adore our daughter.
The same occurs when we run into folks for the first time
after Dragon’s birth. To my wary ears when someone emphasizes their joy over
the birth our daughter it feels more like relief regarding our son’s death and
the subsequent fallout. “I’m so happy for you two!” Why because
you think we’re fixed? Because you think we’re moving on and healed? Truth is
we are healing and moving forward
with our life but I don’t want that misinterpreted as we are “okay” or “over”
A’s death. We are still absolutely broken and anguish over our missing boy each
and every day.
Related to the overcompensation is, I think, a sense of
relief for family, friends and acquaintances. Relief that Dragon arrived
safely. But more so, relief that this must mean E and I are doing better and
that judgment alone makes my guard fly up.
When we became pregnant with Dragon six months after A was stillborn,
I immediately knew I didn’t want to discuss my pregnancy or feelings with
anyone other than E and some close babyloss moms who knew where I was coming from. To
that end, I sent an email to all of our family, friends and even my coworkers
asking them to please not ask anything and to not expect me to share much about
the pregnancy. For the most part, they respected our wishes. Perhaps that
restriction fed into the overcompensation when Dragon finally arrived alive and
well. That I held our loved ones at arm’s length for a time that when the
floodgates finally came down the gifts rushed in.
I really do wish I didn’t feel this cynical. But I can’t
help but think about what the response would have been to A’s birth and
homecoming had he lived. Sure our there would have been fanfare surrounding our
firstborn child, but would it have been as over-the-top?
I think you're right. There is a lot of overcompensation. And it's hard to take. Even though I think it comes from a place of compassion, it is hard to take. And so, so hard not to be cynical about it all. I wish people could just say more often, whenever they are feeling it, 'I'm sorry your baby died. I miss him too.'
ReplyDeleteIt absolutely comes from a good place. Just like the stupid things people say after your baby dies. But you're right. If they didn't over think it, if they weren't worried about saying the "wrong" thing, they could very simply say, "I'm sorry he isn't here. I miss him too."
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