The New Normal . . . So Far

It’s been a year. I’ve been writing for 9 months about this “new normal” of mine, and trying to figure out what it is. The short answer is that I don’t know yet. I’m still very much a work in progress. I’ve learned a lot over the past year, but I know that I’m still nowhere near level ground. It will likely take a lifetime to figure out my new normal, but here is what I can say it is so far.

My new normal is:

Being able to cry, hard, in a split second. It doesn’t take much to take me there, and I’ve learned that I can cry freely in front of anyone (friends, coworkers, strangers, even my boss).

Spending large amounts of time focusing on just breathing. Breathing is often a very conscious act for me.

Extreme introversion. I’ve never been terribly social or out-going, and I’ve only gotten more introverted over the last year. Part of it is that I recognize who really matters, and part of it is self-protection.

Recognizing that there are 4 types of people in my life:

·                            People that truly understand

·                            People that genuinely try to understand and actually empathize

·                            People that pretend to try to understand, but judge instead

·                            People who just don’t care

I’m learning to emphasize the first 2 and get rid of the latter 2.

Getting advice from anyone and everyone. Everyone has an opinion about how to manage my grief, how to cope with infertility, and what I need to do now. In the end, only my opinion counts for me.

Coping with changed friendships. I’ve had many close friendships change over the past year – some got stronger, some just changed, and some went away. There is more loss that comes with loss than most people recognize.

Living broken, but living. (Sarah, that one’s for you!)

A stronger, but changed faith. I've had my bouts of serious anger and questioning with God over the past year, and I know I'm not done. But today, I can say that my faith is stronger, but different in many ways from the faith I had before.

Experiencing multiple contrasting moods in a 5 second span – happy changes to guilt which changes to sadness which changes to bitterness in seconds flat.

Knowing what it’s like to miss someone so much that it physically hurts to the very core of your soul.

Feeling such bitterness and jealousy when I see or hear of someone who is pregnant or a small baby. I hate this ugly side of grief, but I can’t deny that it’s part of my normal now.

A stab in the heart every time someone asks “do you have any children?” And the moment where my heart stops as I know what will come next when I answer the question openly.

Balancing between not wanting people to forget my daughter, but not being defined solely by my loss. It is an impossible tightrope to walk.

Being able to count on 1 hand the people I really need in life and knowing they’ll be there in a hot second if I needed them.

Knowing that when life gets bad, there’s only 1 person I want to see, and fortunately, I married him.

It's not supposed to be so complicated

A little over a month after Vivienne died, I got the question I dreaded being asked. It’s so simple, and people ask it all of the time because who would ever consider that it would feel painful. “Do you have any kids?” I’m sure many of you have been asked this question and not thought twice about it. For me, it’s a dagger through the heart.

The first time I got the question, I hadn’t really prepared myself for how to answer it. It had only been a few weeks, and I was at the point where I was still telling the story to people who knew we were pregnant, and generally avoiding meeting anyone new, outside of loss groups. It came from someone I worked with previously who I hadn’t seen since I’d been pregnant. The question was innocent enough, and I managed to stammer through a response. Actually, we just lost our daughter, I responded. He said how sorry he was, and I said that I was still figuring out how to answer that question. That was met with “you answer that question with no, I don’t have any children.” I was immediately incensed at that response and told him, in no uncertain terms, that answer wouldn’t be true and it’s not how I answer the question. Things got awkward, and he walked away.

Based on that interaction, I came up with my scripted response, so I’d be ready the next time I was asked. I was so confident that I’d be prepared for it. It happened a couple of weeks ago (clearly I don’t meet new people that often). I was getting my hair cut, and my stylist (I go to a new one pretty much every time it gets cut) asked if we had any children. So much for preparation—I immediately felt uncomfortable and not sure what to do. I went to my script—we have a daughter who would be 9 months old, but she died shortly after she was born. Cue the discomfort, but I was glad I said it. I’ve promised myself that I’ll never deny Vivienne, no matter how uncomfortable it makes other people. As others have told me, they’re uncomfortable for about 5 minutes, and I live with it my whole life.

Cut to earlier this week. I’m preparing to change jobs—same company, just a different role. I was talking with someone who was gathering information for the announcement that would go out. I gave them all of the work details, then they said they wanted to include some personal details. I wasn’t sure what they wanted, so I just sat silent on the phone, knowing what was likely coming.

Are you married?

Me: Yes, my husband and I will celebrate our 2^nd anniversary next week.

Awkward silence, as I knew what was likely coming next. After several seconds of me not going into the kids/no kids discussion. . .

Any pets?

Me: Yes, we have a cat.

More awkward silence and I decide that’s enough.

Me: We have a daughter. She passed away.

This was followed by I’m sorry and asking what happened. When I finished explaining, he said “I don’t think we’ll put that in.”

And there it is. If she were alive, the announcement would say “Tracey, her husband Gordon, and daughter Vivienne.” But, she’s gone, and what should be a simple statement about children becomes a lot more complicated, so it just gets left out. I understand not including her in the announcement. I don’t like it, but I understand it. I’ve never denied my daughter, and I never will, but I do understand that it’s easier for others to do so. But anyone who asks should be prepared for the complicated answer because I’ll never say I don’t have children.

It's such a simple question, with no simple answers.