The Weight of Words

Recently, I've had several people express to me their surprise at my ability to write about our situation. Even more people have shared their inability to express their feelings on the matter and even more simply don't say anything. For me, the worst part is telling someone who doesn't know. They see me and their eyes light up as they ask how things are going. It's almost like I don't want to disappoint them. I know that's dumb, but there's something in that moment that seems to hurt us both and I absolutely hate having to experience that moment. For example, I've been going to the same massage therapist for several years now and I went in yesterday for the first time since my hospitalization. I saw her look at me funny (thinking, I'm sure, that my belly didn't seem nearly as big as last time) and the only words I could get out were, "I'm not pregnant any more." But I don't think it really occurred to her what I was saying because she seemed far too chipper until she realized I was crying. I think she thought I had simply had the babies. I certainly wouldn't expect my massage therapist to track how many weeks I was. She gave me a long hug and the quietest massage I've had in a long time.

So, when people wonder how I can write about this stuff, that's my answer. If even half of the people in my daily life make up those 1,100+ hits on this blog, then that is far fewer people who have to experience that moment of loss with me. They experience it, but I don't have to see it and I don't have to articulate it to them. I can type type type away with my tissue by my side, hit "publish post" and let the Internet do the rest. Technology is wonderful. And I've found that, once people know, it's much easier to talk about it. It's like, once we're on the same page, the emotion is lessened and I become okay. Strange, I know. Of course, there are days and times when I feel less emotionally stable and would prefer not to talk, but there are other times when I want to talk about it. I want someone to remember it with me (even though they probably weren't there) and, in turn, remember that our children did exist for a time, even if it was far too short a time.

But I understand that it's hard and I understand that it's awkward. I think that's another reason why I write in such a public venue. I know I could just journal, but there's something in me that feels it's important to share this with others and, since others generally won't ask but tend to want to know, this seems a safe forum. Plus, if someone reads this, then s/he may be more likely to post a response on Facebook or send a text or give me a call because she realizes that I'm not awash in a constant sea of pain and I don't always want to be alone. And I thank those of you who have reached out, brought food, simply sent a message, or even come over to spend time with one or both of us. As we start to feel better physically, I'm sure we'll dip back down into some emotional territory for a bit (I can already feel it happening to me as I'm in a bit less pain) but will also crave time with friends and loved ones. So don't be afraid to reach out. And trust me, if we're not okay to answer or to hang out, we'll either say so or we won't pick up in the first place. And don't put too much pressure on yourself. We don't expect you to have the perfect words to bring peace and ultimate healing, but genuine words always bring some degree of comfort. So don't be afraid to speak up and I'll continue to do the same.