Wednesday, June 1, 2011

the envious leper

The past few days a new emotion has begun to rear it's little head in my life... envy.

Envy brings a lot of other friends to the party including shame and anger.  Sometimes envy makes you wonder if perhaps your "have not" has something to do with you not being as worthy to receive as those who "have"... feelings of self-deprecation follow.

Envy also furthers your pain because it denies you the residual joy in other people's lives. 

I hate myself for feeling this way.  I've never... EVER...felt this "wrong" about anything in my whole life.  I'd never wish our circumstance on anyone ever, but it's very hard to witness or enjoy some of the good things that are happening to some of our friends, even some of our family members.  I am served a plate full of loveliness, and I want so very much to share in this feast of happiness with them... to laugh and smile and say things like "I am so happy for you".  Because I am happy for them.  I want things to be normal and I want to be the Brooke I usually am.  I want to be able to congratulate people and celebrate with people and bless people and let them know that I am happy.  I wish I could be happy.  I wish I could say that I was happy for someone.  But I cannot because it's a painful happy buried under tons and tons of hurt and anguish- topped off with a cherry of envy.   What the forefront of my mind really wants me to say is "I am so envious of you."

Sometimes when the thoughts get hard I turn to the internet and search around for others who are enduring something similar.  Even if only for a little while, I find a few blogs or a few forum posts and I read about the pain, the hurt, the envy of other women who have also lost a baby.  I see other moms respond to that mom, relating their own loss and expressing how everything we feel is "normal".   It's like we're all wandering around and we sometimes have to huddle together in caves to feel safe.  Be with our own "kind" for a moment so we don't feel so alone in our pain.


I'm going to take this "leper" analogy one step further, here. 

I am sure eventually my wounds and scars will fade and heal (at least on the outside).  And time will gradually fade this tragedy like something that's been bleached by the sun.  But for a while I don't think I'll be able to attend certain celebratory social functions.  It terrifies me that what has happened to us would become the topic of conversation (or thought) at an event which is supposed to be somebody else's moment of joy, feast of happiness, "big day".  I don't want my sadness to steal from that.  So, I willingly hide out in the cave... the cave for other envious lepers. 

But let me make a few distinctions. 

1.  I will not always feel this way.  Some day I will be well enough to come out.  I go into my "cave" when I need to heal.

2.  I am in too much pain to spend much time around little babies right now.  So, I am sorry to my friends who have little infants- I may decline to hang out for long periods of time.  Your joy is beautiful, your precious one is the light of your life, it envelops you through and through as it should.  One day it won't be hard for me, but for now I have to recognize that I am weak, and some things are a little too hard.

3.  I will willingly withdraw myself from functions and conversations that I find painful.  But that doesn't mean that I don't want to talk about things.  I'm big on talking and communication and I find that it usually helps.  Don't be afraid to talk to me.

4.  I am envious some times now but I am not delusional and I am not hateful.  It might be hard for me to be around other babies but that's not because I want those other babies... I want my Wolfie, and no other.  But watching other babies reminds me of what I will not have with Wolfie...what Ben will not have with Wolfie... what Wolfie will not have.  Even something as simple as seeing another baby looking around at the world reminds me that Wolfie never got to open his eyes.  He never got to see me, really.  And I harbor no hatred in my heart.  I am not the kind of person who converts pain to hatred. 


I want nothing more than to be normal... but I realize that isn't possible right now.  And I also realize that how other people may interact (or not want to interact) with me will be affected.  I have no clue how these things are "supposed" to move forward but I promise to do my best and just be myself and if all you who love me will do the same then I think things will be OK.  Do whatever feels right to you... even if it's awkward (because God knows I'm going to be mostly incredibly awkward for a long time now).



Sending you warm wishes from my cave. 





 

3 comments:

  1. So honest and raw. I do hope your normal now will become a new normal over time. I find myself thinking of you and Wolfie a lot in the midst of all the births going on around us. I know it stings. You are absolutely worthy. The loss of Wolfie was so great- greater than anyone can put words to. And I feel this sense of protection over you each time I see our friends announce their birth on FB. Not in a "poor Brooke" way, but more in a "Wolfie should be here" and you are a fellow sister and mother without a child in her arms. And that pains cuts to the core. And I'll be damned if that ever makes any kind of sense.

    You're worthy and deserving. You are priceless and greatly loved. Perhaps only a grieving mother can comfort a grieving mother. I hope you can find comfort in the blogs and forums. Making that connection and seeing that you're not alone can be healing. But I know that a blog can't hold you when you're surprised by grief. I wish I could take some of that grief for you.

    I think of Wolfie a lot. I think of you a lot. My friendship and home is always open for you.

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  2. Halfway through reading this, I found myself welling up. Wounds heal with time, but they will always ache a little... more when it rains. I spent a long time in my cave after my losses, and then through years of infertility. There were times I'd come out and force myself to go to a baby shower or the like... and it never ended well. I can remember falling to pieces in the parking deck at Piedmont hospital after visiting a friend and her new baby. Kept telling myself "don't let them see.. just make it to the car, just make it to the car". It was such a horrible feeling. You so very much want to share their joy, but through your own grief it just hurts too much, and then you're left feeling guilty for thinking such 'selfish' things.

    As for being awkward, I feel the need to share this with you... if only to show how perfectly normal the envy is. Would you believe there was a time when I would have been envious of you? ..that you were able to see, and hold your child, if only for moments. With my miscarriages I didn't have that, and I was so angry that I had nothing more than an ultrasound to prove my child ever existed. Grief takes on a host of strange emotions.

    Just know you aren't alone in this, and everything you're feeling is normal, if only to those of us that have experienced something similar.

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  3. Thank you for sharing your journey with us. We have a lot to learn from you and Ben.
    You may not think you are teaching us, but you are...
    And you are doing a mighty fine job of it.

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