The Boys of Summer

Yes, it’s September.  No, it’s not quite Fall yet…Those days are gone, and we can never look back.  If you’re still hanging out with me, thank you.  Since the death of my grandmother last October, until now it’s been a roller coaster year.  They are not usually like this!  After January it was back and forth to Georgia for my dad’s immunotherapy; searching for jobs, getting a crappy job with leaders that have questionable ethics;…finding out on Mother’s Day I was pregnant…losing the baby in late June.

I’d love to say that was the worst of it, and it is…but it didn’t stop there.  Our well died at the house, and we are currently working on fixing the sump pump and remodeling our kitchen after water damage. The house issues are annoyances.  The job issues are a sad mix of frustration and annoyance as well…We still haven’t recovered from losing the baby.  Some people say you never do.  I could give you the blow by blow of how this hurts and how our story is tragic.  But let me tell you something…anyone who has suffered the loss of a dear family member before their time understands what that loss feels like.  What all that unspent potential feels like, and how the survivor still spins that life and joy and hope out in their minds long after everyone thinks their fine.  Long after they’ve figured out how to smile and make other people feel more comfortable around their grief.

What I learned is that losing an unborn child is different from an “ordinary” loss.  While we have been very blessed by some family and friends and their compassion and care…others abandoned us.  Some encouraged other family and friends not to reach out to us, or wouldn’t speak to others on our behalf. We lost a child, people!  A part of our family.  Pretending it’s some kind of failure to be swept under a rug and not discussed is hateful.  So, please, if you have friends and family that this happened to, please ask them if they’re okay.  Show them that you at least feel something for them, for their lost loved one, and for the fact that their world has changed in some massive way. Our greatest moments of peace in all of this have happened with friends and family that listened to our loss.  That treated us with the care you give someone who is grieving.  We have been blessed by friends that took care of our family by making sure we were fed, and had a safe moment to talk…that treated us as though we were suffering a loss and not a failure. For now, I am choosing our friends and family that supported us. We are choosing to see the blessings of those amazing people, and distance ourselves from those that abandoned us in our greatest time of grief. As my husband and I work through the process of grief, we are choosing to be as positive as we can.  Time may prove that it may just be the two of us, ever after, in our little family.  But we are going to be a joyful and grateful family.  We may have had our little miracle for only a little bit of time, but we are going to grow the love we have for him, and let that shine out into the world as best we can.

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2 thoughts on “The Boys of Summer

  1. I’m so sorry you have been going through all of that. Grief is so personal and everyone goes through the process in their own way and time. We never made it to the getting pregnant stage when we were trying and it was heart breaking enough every month to see only one line on the pee stick. I can’t even imagine the heart break of losing a baby. A huge internet stranger hug out to you and your husband and if you ever need to talk to someone who will listen and take it all in you can feel free to message me (agemofahorse at gmail dot com)

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  2. Thank you, and hugs to you too! We tried unsuccessfully for close to seven years to have a baby. I have spent many moments sitting on a tile floor in a bathroom crying over a negative pregnancy test. I am so sorry you have gone through that too. We had decided that we were good with “us”, and that we were going to stop trying. Then I got pregnant. As I’m still grieving, I still feel like that was some kind of bittersweet cruel joke. People are as silent about the heartache of infertility as they are about miscarriage. Seeing that negative test every month destroys the hope you have in your heart for that possible child, the one that would have been your son or daughter, conceived in love *that* month. The best intentions come with statements like, “you still have time”, “you can always adopt”(a valid and noble point, but hard to swallow when you’re wishing to hold the baby your body made); or believed encouragement from friends and family urging you to get started on baby-making; or giving you their wonderful stories of how it took just x-number of months for them to get pregnant, have you tried x-position or n-position, or x-supplement/treatment/intervention yet.

    As we’re both approaching 40, I was already questioning whether a child is really something we both need/want, before I got pregnant. I’d be 60 when they start college, etc. When I was pregnant, none of that mattered…all that mattered was our little miracle, our little squiggle. Now that I’m back in that no-man’s-land of childless infertility, I find myself asking those same questions. If we get pregnant, what a blessing! If we don’t, it’s not going to knock the world off it’s axis. I don’t know if that’s the “right” attitude to have or not, but for right now it’s all I’ve got.

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