I've been asked twice in the last week if I had kids. This is a really difficult question...to say 'no' is so easy, almost automatic, reflecting the reality of what I feel every day. But at the same time, 'no' is denying that Elise ever existed, denying that I was her mother...am her mother. Yet saying 'yes' requires so much more emotional work and I feel like I then commit myself to the explanation. I know I don't have to explain but that's what I do. I talk when I don't need to and I don't do very well with silences. So, a 'yes' is telling her story which makes me feel excellent because it needs to be told but is not always convenient, does not fit into a short pretty package, does not have a happy ending.
I've been interviewing candidates for residency these past few weeks and Tuesday the question came. I said 'no' well 'yes' and recieved an interesting look from the applicant. I then gestured to the photo of Elise on the wall in my office and said 'we had a daughter who died of a brain hemorrhage in October.' If I must critique the interaction, it went over quite well (as well as something like this could go) and the candidate said she was sorry and I thanked her it and that was that. Today, one of the other attendings at my hospital was talking about her son's grades and, out of nowhere in the middle of her story, asked if I had children. Without thinking I said 'not yet' and immediately felt horrible. Before I could say anything else, she continued with her story. I totally would not have wanted to talk about Elise in that crowded elevator but at the same time, I just felt so sad that it seemed so easy for me to say 'no.' I feel weak for not saying 'yes,' and angry at myself for caring about other people feelings, for worrying about softening the blow for them.
This experience reminded me of a passage from an excellent book my mom sent to me, Life Touches Life: A Mother's Story of Stillbirth and Healing, by Lorraine Ash. Even though her experience is with stillbirth, so much of what she writes about resonates with me and our experience with infant loss.
"Mothers of stillborn children often wind up soothing others...Eventually we parents came to realize that we may be the only firsthand witnesses of life's brutalities that some people ever know. Talking to us may be as close as many people have ever come to real horror. Perhaps stillbirth moms are all that stand between tham and the horror, and they desperately want us to keep silent about what we experienced. No matter how great the need to testify, most people want us to shield them from the blood and pain. They would rather not know. They are afraid to know."
I want to thank you for not allowing us to be silent, for wanting to know, for not being afraid to know, for being willing to embrace our horror with us. I want to thank you for all the amazing things you've said and done...things I would never have known or thought to say or do...things I will always do from now on.
9 comments:
I'm not a fan of "the question" but have been asked it often in the last 2 years.
Most times I answer truthfully and tell them the abbreviated story -- "my son passed away after 3 1/2 days due to a heart defect". There have been times though I've just said "no" and remained silent and felt terrible for it. It's not an easy question.. I'm sorry there are others like us who have to answer it the way we do. :(
((hugs))
That is a really interesting passage you quoted. Good book Liz! I cant imagine your struggle to define your situation - it's so much deeper and involved than a quick 'yes' or 'no' could begin to summarize. I wont presume to know what the right answer is for you - but I think whatever makes you feel best is what you should do. Regardless of if that changes by the day, by the question, etc.
So sorry this is even something you have to think about. Totally unfair.
Everything you have written resonates with me. I can't tell you how many times since Gavin passed away that I have been asked, "How many children do you have?" Like you, it feels like I am denying him if I answer 2, but if I answer 3 it leads to more questions and an opening up of all of my wounds. Each situation will be different, but sometimes you just have to decide whether you want to emotionally invest yourself in the answer. Sometimes when a grocery store clerk asks me, I just answer two. Yes, I feel horrible but the truth is sometimes I just can't deal with the questions that will follow. You will find the right answer for you. Just know that no matter what the answer, you are not denying your daughter because Elise knows just how very loved she is.
I will have to look for the book that you referenced, I loved the passage. It must be one of the few I have not collected. I don't know if I shared with you, but a book that really helped me was written by a counselor/pastor that I saw a few times. You can get it on Amazon, it really is wonderful. The name of it is "Markings on a Windowsill" by Ron Greer. I highly recommend it.
I hope that your return to work is going okay. I am glad that you are continuing to share your story here, I hope that it feels like a good outlet for you. I am just not a great writer otherwise I would probably have a blog as well. Take care, I think of you often. I am always here to listen.
Amanda
Stephanie, I would always want you to be comfortable with any answer you give, simply because the reality of your love for Elise (and the way you and AJ demonstrated that love) is always there. It does not diminish if another person doesn't know about it. Perhaps Jesus' "pearls before swine" analogy works here. At times your invitation to share Elise's story might be a gift to another person, or a wake-up call to life toughness. Other times, maybe not. Be comfortable with either choice.
love, mama
Just wanting to let you know that there are so many people, that don't know your personally, that continue to think about you and your little Elise. I still find you and your family in my prayers. Your daughter touched my heart as I know she touched many. Thank you for opening up your heart and soul to us.
Scarlett
That is a tough question to answer and probably very difficult. Maybe a good close ended answer would be to say, "I do, but I'm sad to say she has passed away." And only a really nosy and obnoxious person would prod you any further! Hopefully you won't run into many of those! Still thinking of you both-
I am sorry that this is a choice that you even have to make. Praying for you and your family and wishing you a blessed Thanksgiving.
Hi Stephanie,
Having been a child and family therapist for over 35 years, I am often asked if I have children. The easy answer is no.
The hard answer is that I was not able to have children.
We grieve for children we lost and for children who never were.
When asked that question, I do not want the empty, knee jerk reponses, "Sorry" or "You must regret that"... so I rarely share.
There are privileged communications we hold sacred and share with those who understand or might need support in a similar circumstance.
You do what you think and feel best at the time, what makes you comfortable. The only person you owe the expression of your feelings is yourself and those with whom you choose to share. No one who knows you doubts your love and attachment to Elise.
I think of you and AJ and your mom everyday. Love, Judy
Dear Steph and AJ,
I can remember feeling exactly as you do now. Although I didn't lose a baby to illness, I chose to give my child up for adoption. At 16, this was my only choice. Passing people on the street with babies, tv baby commercials, friends with little ones made my heart hurt with such a sense of unjust. And I wasn't able to tell anyone. Years later when I had my children, people would ask - how many? Sometimes I would say 2 other times I would say 3. I never felt an explanation was needed. You can never deny Elise. You have a child, she is in your heart. Don't feel guilty when you say none - you don't have to share her with anyone. It will be easier as time passes. Right now what ever answer comes to mind is the correct answer for the moment. Only you chose when and with whom to share her. I love you so much. Liz
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