Showing posts with label Facebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Facebook. Show all posts

Monday, February 16, 2015

Group No More

E and I attended our first bereaved parents’ support group a couple weeks after A died. I would have gone sooner but that was the next scheduled group. Before I was discharged from the hospital I knew I wanted to try the local support groups. I was desperate to try anything – the books, the groups, the blogs – whatever stillbirth and babyloss information I could get.

For more than three years I have been attending babyloss support group. In the beginning, it couldn’t come soon enough. I wished that they were every single week. I craved the solidarity and the chance to talk about my son. As time wore on, the grief was less debilitating, less consuming on a daily basis and so I’d go to group as needed instead of every month. I could always count on that second Tuesday of the month if I was feeling especially sorrowful or when the holidays rolled around or whenever I needed a little extra support.

Recently, the facilitator who runs what was the most popular (by attendance) babyloss support group informed me that group was on a hiatus. Over the last year attendance at monthly support group had dropped significantly. Lately, there were only 2-3 people showing up, and sometimes, just one. The facilitator feels that that few of people doesn’t constitute a group because if someone did not want to talk, they would feel pressure to.

The facilitator has talked to other local support group leaders and even reached out to colleagues in other states; apparently this is a national issue one that isn’t restricted to babyloss support groups. The new trend, according to her, is digital support.

I have found tremendous support with the online babyloss community. I started this blog three months after A died and had been reading other blogs within a day of becoming a babyloss mother. The validation, camaraderie and support of all of you who read and write out here on the internet is invaluable. But it isn’t the same as face-to-face meetings. For me, there is value in both online support and in-person support group. That’s why I’ve regularly utilized both for the last 3+ years.

One of the benefits of support group is that I get to tell A’s story every time I go. And, to this day, I still breakdown while recounting the short life of our firstborn. By now, I am considered a “veteran” at group. Most of the other parents who are there are much earlier in their grief journey. I respect this important role as a “grief elder.” These parents are so freshly shattered and I can immediately go back to the place myself. I can empathize with the emotions, the challenges, the shock. When I walk out of group now, I don’t feel the relief that I once felt, but it is rewarding. I belong to the local bereaved community and also to the online community. And just like the women who have come before me, those I’ve met in person and those who I communicate with online, I want to be here for the unfortunate families who come after me.


So I am disappointed and disheartened that our local group is no more. I feel it is a disservice to the community. The facilitator is considering starting a few different Facebook groups (early loss, later loss/stillbirth, subsequent pregnancy, etc.) but it won’t be the same. I respect that not every person gets something out of support group. But I know I do. I wish there was more I could do to rally these broken parents and encourage them to drag themselves out of their isolation and to group. Truth is, so does the facilitator and she gets paid to do that, yet the numbers still dwindled and now the future of face-to-face support group is up in the air.

Sunday, June 3, 2012

Birthday Shmirthday


I recently had a birthday. The number of my age doesn’t bother me all that much. My experience has been that special occasions, holidays and family gatherings all seem to magnify A’s absence. It makes those supposed-to-be-happy events god-awful.

After coming off Mother’s Day, I knew I did not want to make a big deal out of my birthday. Typically there is dinner with my Mom and family and another dinner with my Dad and family. Plus whatever E plans special for us. This year, I just wanted to ignore my birthday. I didn’t want any acknowledgement, just wanted to shut my eyes and wake up on the other side of it.

I called off all birthday get-togethers. E and I went out to a low-key dinner that was exactly what I needed without any of the fanfare. Then came the well wishes. I don’t mean to sound unappreciative that folks think of me on my birthday, but I hated every single message. The texts, emails, cards and voicemails from family and friends were infuriating.  (My friend and fellow babylost mommy had a similar experience.)

“Enjoy your special day today!”

“May this year be your happiest!”

“Hope you’re having a wonderful day!”

Are you effing kidding me?

Now I can understand this sort of superficial nonsense from Facebook acquaintances who may not know that A was stillborn in the fall, but to hear this crap from people in my life who are well aware of the hell I’m living is flabbergasting. I wanted to personally retort to each message.

“Enjoy your special day today!”
            Eff you. Today does not feel special. It feels horrible.

“May this year be your happiest!”
            Not unless you can resurrect my son!

“Hope you’re having a wonderful day!”
            How can I possibly have a wonderful day? Don’t you realize what a struggle it is to survive each day? Don’t you listen when I explain how intensely I miss my son and hate this life without him?

I am glad the birthday shenanigans are over. I am glad I can stop smiling through gritted teeth thanking people for their “kind” thoughts. I am glad I can go back to my daily routine of focusing on survival instead of focusing on A’s absence.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

March Baby Madness


My co-worker’s son was born this week. I knew he and his wife were expecting; I knew they were due in March; I knew it was a boy. Every Monday morning I’d arrive at the office anticipating the news of a weekend delivery.

Wednesday afternoon, he texted the big boss to share the news that the baby was born including a snapshot of little Ethan swaddled in a hospital blanket. The big boss passed this photo on to the entire staff via email. My initial reaction was nausea. I literally felt sick to my stomach.

What an awful response to the news of a child’s birth? I am not a wicked person. On the contrary, I understand the lack of guarantees when it comes to bearing children and the joy that comes once that baby is safely in your arms. But hearing of his arrival and seeing his photo made my gut flip-flop.

Naturally I cried and then put my headphones on to drown out any discussion around me of the cute new baby and tried my damnedest to make it to 5 o’clock. Though I ended up crying a couple more times at office.

Of course the kindhearted folks I work with stopped by my cube to see how I was doing and offer support. They're so wonderful. But they also say the stupidest things that are not supportive at all. "Your day will come." "You'll be a mom someday." "Someday it will all be ok." I wholeheartedly believe all of these things. But guess what? Knowing those things does not make me feel any better. It does not make me miss my son any less. It does not make the day any easier to survive!

March was rough. Between family, friends, neighbors, coworkers and acquaintances there were 6 babies born. Perhaps it’s our age, but every time I log onto Facebook, it seems every single Friend has photos of their children or are expecting. It makes me glum and angry. I avoid FB for the most part because of this. And after one particularly teary, rageful evening E said to me “No more Facebook on Sunday nights, ok?” *sigh*

Knowing that someday we'll have living children and I'll be a mom does not make it any easier to watch hugely pregnant peers go into the hospital and a couple days later bring a baby home HOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE. Why does everyone else get to keep their baby?!