Saturday, March 14, 2009

In six days it will be one year from when my wife and I lost our baby. My friends and family would say it was the day that my wife lost her baby. It seems that people seem to forget that I lost something too. I remember calling my dad to tell him what happened. He said he was sorry and then he changed the subject. Let me go over that again. He said a quick I'm sorry and then he CHANGED THE SUBJECT! When I told my "best friend" he didn't know what to say. He invited me to go out a couple of weeks later then he didn't call me for six months. When people who knew decided to ask me about it they would ask how my wife was doing. Um......hello? Did anyone happen to notice that I'm hurting too. Why doesn't anyone ask me how I'm doing. As a guy I guess I'm not supposed to hurt. Nobody wants to ask me how I'm doing because I'm not supposed to express any emotion but anger. Well I have good news then. I have anger in abundance. I feel as though I'm sitting in the dark while watching a movie of my wife being induced. People talk to me and I'm aware that they are there but my eyes are on the screen. My wife is next to me and I know she's watching the same thing. We can talk about it but the movie is still there and we're both watching it. There is a room around me but the screen fills my perception. When I get up to go to work or to pretend that I care about being social it gives no more of a break then going to the kitchen for a refill of pop. The image of my dead baby's body is so etched in my brain that I can't fully focus on anything. However the screen is blurry. I can't seem to fully focus on the image no matter how hard I try. So I just sit in the darkness.
If you are reading this blog to find some glimmer of hope or a path to find a light at the end of the tunnel then I'm sorry. This would be another futile example of the blind leading the blind. Don't get me wrong, there are good days. Some days I wake up and feel normal but that's a very fragile state. The moment I realize that I feel normal it reminds me that I didn't the day before. That realization is enough to bring me right down again because it reminds me of why I was down yesturday. So again I'm sorry if you were looking for something a little more upbeat but I'm writing this from the darkness. I don't see myself taking the time to write on the good days. I have far to much to do in those brief moments of focus.
If you have had a similar experience then I truly am sorry for your loss. This experience is so horibble that I would do it 100 times a day if it could keep anyone else from going through the same thing. Ironically the things that I'm most angry about are the things that people did with good intentions. The doctors who breezed over our questions because they didn't want to worry us. The nurses who pushed the Catholic hospital's views on us without asking what our beliefs were. Let's not forget all of the people who assumed that I would want to be left alone. Now here I am a year later still being left alone. Everyone else assumes that I'm back to normal because I've gotten better at pretending. So where's my Oscar.

7 comments:

  1. Welcome to blogland. Its shameful that no one considered your struggles. It will be interesting to hear about the daddy side of baby loss. I'm sure no one here expects you to be cheery.

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  2. I am so sorry. And I too realized from the moment that we told people we were pregnant that everyone came to me to hug and congratulate me. I noticed that my husband was a second thought. It seemed to continue through our loss. Everyone asks me how I'm doing. Everyone asks him how I'm doing. It saddens me because he too is going thru this.

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  3. Hello HOSL - this Monica over from www.knockedupknockeddown.blogspot.com. Heather (commented above) sent me over. I dig your perspective, your writing style, your font selection. It makes me sad. Your writing is concise and brutally honest, really lovely. I won't bore you with my story, but suffice it to say, I've been down your road a few times (from the female perspective, of course), and what you are saying makes my heart ache for my husband Kevin. He's a typical, ESPN-watching, Pabst-drinking dude. I don't think people ever try to think of what it must be like for him. Your words really resonate with me.

    One more thing. I am also the founder/editor of Exhale, at www.exhalezine.com. Kevin is one of our columnists providing that very occasional "elusive male perspective" as The Dude's Mood. I'm always looking for dudes to contribute. Check it out - I'd love to have you contribute a piece - if you think you would enjoy that. Our readers would gobble up your words.

    Peace, and keep writing here. It's good.

    Monica LeMoine

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  4. Monica lies. I didn't tell anyone! ;)

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  5. Hi there - I just found you through the blog-vine (specifically from Monica who found you through Heather). I'm so sorry for your loss - and for the fact that you've had to "be a man" through it.

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  6. Yet another visitor via Monica here. I'm really glad to have found your blog. I'm going to point my husband to it, but I'm also about to sign up as a follower (just as soon as I'm done leaving this comment!). Yours is a perspective we don't get to hear very often, and I'm really glad you're open to sharing it. My husband has some moments of letting his grief loose on the world, but they're few and far between. For the most part he keeps things pretty tightly bottled up inside. He doesn't have your way with words, but I think he'd really appreciate your writing.

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