The Creme de la Creme for 2010 is up on Mel's wonderful blog. Go over and check it out. (Yes, I'm on it. Towards the middle. The post I wrote about going to the beach for sunset a month and a half ago.) There are some really thought provoking posts up. It is something to be savored. I think Ive read as far as post number 20. :-) (BTW, if you're not on the list, there is still time to submit your own favorite post from 2010!)
So far, the "Most Thought-Provoking Post Award" (IMHO) goes to Once a Mother for her post, Tending To Our Wounds. Go on over and read it.
I'll wait.
Really, I'll be right here.
Yes, it's a bit long, but worth reading.
And what I have to say next pertains to it and won't make much sense out of context.
So are you back?
Good, you've read it then?
Good. I'll tell you why I give it the "Most Thought-Provoking Post Award." I read it last night, and sometime during the night I had a really weird dream.
I was out in public, taking a commuter train to get somewhere. So far, so normal. Except I had my baby-doll (the one I've had since I was four) in a stroller. This doll is the size of a real baby. It fits in to 3 mo size baby cloths. It's cloth and soft and has been my stand-in baby for years (stand-in sibling originally). The stroller was a rugged, umbrella-type (think Maclaren or Jeep). I had a bunch of paraphernalia, including an Ergo baby carrier for later, as well, as if I was going out for a day with a real baby who would need changes of cloths and diapers and bottles and all that. The doll represented my baby--the one I "should" have by now (dream-logic, since in reality, if I hadn't miscarried I'd probably still be pregnant). In my dream-logic, the doll-baby was asleep in the stroller. I had a hard time getting the stroller up on the train--it was a high step--but I couldn't take the doll-baby out because he/she was asleep. Eventually, I got on the train, and found a seat beside another woman and settled in with all my paraphernalia.
At this point, The Mister joined me (I have no idea where he was before, dream-logic again). And then the woman next to me starts talking to a man in the row in front of us about her two miscarriages. Hearing her speak so openly of her miscarriages to someone who was a complete stranger to both of us (don't ask how I knew she didn't know him--dream-logic again) freed me to finally be able to say, "I had two miscarriages, too. That is why I have this doll with me." To my dream-self, the doll represented some kind of place-holder for my babies, both the lost ones and the one(s) yet to come.
I think this dream was an unconscious expression of my ever growing desire to make my miscarriages more publicly known. I have been very careful about who I tell IRL, because I don't want to be hurt by thoughtless comments. I'm not sure I know how to find balance between my desire for recognition (which is also a desire to raise awareness) and my need to protect my tender, grieving heart. My hope is that with time, as I heal, and once I (hopefully) become a mother, it will become easier to share my story and use it as a way to educate people and raise awareness about how common pregnancy loss is and the best ways to respond.
However, I know that if I undertake this crusade when I am not emotionally ready for it, my reactionary nature could cause me to do more harm than good. I need to have enough passion to be heard, but not so much that I am dismissed because my listeners think I am "over reacting" or "blowing things out of proportion". I think that, in the end, my best chance of reaching people will be to simply tell my story, and include in that story the responses that helped the most and felt the most comforting when I was deep in grief.
I think the day when I will begin telling my story more publicly is not to far in the future, but I also think that it is not quite here yet . . .
Thanks for sharing that Creme de la Creme post. I'm slowly reading through it. Glad you shared your most favorite and best post on there. That's an interesting dream you've had. It's true, telling our story in public is a challenge. There's always that fear of what people in our real lives will think. I struggle with that, too. I openly write in my blog but it's not easy to talk about it to people. For now, I'll focus on writing it down. Like you said, maybe in time and life changes, we'll find it easier.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your kind comment on my post, and for introducing me to your blog. I suffered a miscarriage before losing my daughter and then went on to suffer secondary infertility and needed IVF to achieve this pregnancy. The reason I am telling you this is that each of these are topics that can be considered taboo to talk about, or bring uncomfortable comments from others, and to that I say tough. If I inhibit what I share for the sake of others, or the fear of what they are going to say, it will eat me up inside. None of the losses we experience in this ALI world are by choice, and we shouldn't have to feel as if they are our burden to bear silently. I say share your story. You never know, the woman sitting next to you listening, may too really need that outlet, and a beautiful connection may be made. As far as people's rude comments, I always say if you can't stand with me in sorrow, i don't want you there with me in joy.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing that post, and your thoughts about it. I have chosen to come out of the infertile and loss closet, for the most part, within the last year. Slowly, I've told the close people in my life. And for the most part, they've been very understanding and supportive. There are a few that don't get it, and don't respond well. But it definitely tells me who are the people I want to have around me.
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