Travels With My Son

Since joining the world of bereaved parents, having already spent a few years in the world of bereaved children, I’ve found it surprising and also saddening to see how many grieving people are wracked with guilt over the fact they feel (or perhaps are being made to feel) that they aren’t being good enough friends.

I’ve especially noticed this in the world of baby loss, where whilst we grieve our life shattering losses and try to rebuild new versions of ourselves in unfamiliar lives we never imagined or asked for, we are often surrounded by friends, family and colleagues of similar ages who are also pregnant, parents to young children, or trying (with the innocence and naiveté we will never again possess) to be so – and potentially publicly celebrating all of the associated milestones.

The thing I’ve noticed that makes me feel so sad is just how many women (and in all likeliness men, who are so often overlooked in these situations) who are struggling to function in the new world they find themselves in, are staggering under the added weight of guilt over what they perceive to be a lack of performance in the friendship arena. That somehow whilst trying to process their grief and recalibrate their lives they should also be throwing themselves into being the best friend they can be and celebrating everyone else’s milestones with enthusiasm and gusto (this might be a slight exaggeration as I’m trying to make a point, but perhaps not). 

But I just so wish there was a way to rid the ‘loss community’ of this guilt once and for all. Interestingly this is one guilt I have never put on myself – there’s plenty I feel guilty about and I don’t need this too. 

I’d like to think that a good friend (or relative / colleague etc.) would understand if attending (or even organising) a baby shower just isn’t something we’re capable of when we’ve suffered a miscarriage or other type of baby loss, are in the torturous position of struggling with the uncertainty of trying to conceive again, or even enduring fertility challenges and treatment. Or if meeting a baby who was born around our due date is a no go (it is for me, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to see any of the babies from our NCT group as they were all born within a few days of my son and will forever be the age he should be). Those lovely maternity leave work visits with baby in tow sadly aren’t lovely for everybody, and perhaps a compassionate (private) warning should be issued to give people the option to not be there. Maybe we just can’t be at your baby’s christening or birthday celebrations. My son was stillborn two days before my nephews’ first birthday and beyond the fact I was physically incapacitated from just having given birth so in no way capable of celebrating, the sad reality is I may always struggle with his birthday to some degree. But I know I will participate in some way eventually, and in the meantime my sister has been and will be nothing but completely compassionate and understanding.

Or maybe we’re struggling with another kind of loss and longing. Perhaps watching somebody be walked down the aisle by their father after we have just lost our own is simply too hard for us, and we’d rather not risk bursting into tears during somebody else’s wedding. This was my experience a couple of months after my dad died (which happened ten months after my sisters’ wedding and four and a half years before I got married), when on the morning of a friends’ wedding I physically could not force myself to stand up. I missed their wedding, and whilst it would have been lovely for everyone had I been there, my absence did not stop them enjoying the best day of their lives. 

My thought is that if you are grieving the loss of a loved one, then you are the person whose friends (and relatives / colleagues etc.) need to step up. I’d wager good money that there are plenty of cheerleaders out there celebrating their pregnancy, baby, engagement, wedding, or other exciting life milestone. If you are in the trenches of grief, or even just really struggling, then you do not need to be somebody else’s cheerleader. They already have plenty. I don’t say this to suggest we should abandon everyone and be ‘bad friends’, but surely a good friend would not want our pain and distress to be the price paid for celebrating them.

If you do feel like there is external pressure for you to show up in a certain way, then I would really consider reevaluating the people in your life (where you can, unfortunately we have no choice with some of the people who are in our lives). Some people may think this is an extreme view, but I’ve been utterly flabbergasted by some of the stories I’ve read and heard about how some people behave in the face of others’ loss. It goes beyond self-centred and insensitive and I genuinely didn’t even think people could behave in these ways. From mothers telling their daughters to ‘get over’ their miscarriages and ‘just be happy’, to supposed friends expecting a ‘pre-loss’ level of enthusiasm for their baby showers or gender reveals, or some people simply refusing to acknowledge the loss and grief at all, I’ve been incredulous at some of the behaviour out there. But it shouldn’t be this way, and grieving people should not be made to feel any worse than they already feel. 

The simple fact is this is not about other people. If we miss the baby shower or the wedding, it is not about them – and if they make a fuss then they need to take a step back and really consider what other people might be going through. Just because we can’t be present doesn’t mean we aren’t truly happy for them – we’re just incredibly painfully sad for ourselves and know that there are some spaces that are not good for us to be in. 

I feel lucky that I’ve never felt pressure to show up in a certain way when I’m grieving for my loved ones. These are true friends and wonderful relatives because they understand that my losses are so painful and significant it means I will likely be unable to participate in certain pockets of life for potentially a very long time. And that is OK. It doesn’t mean we aren’t friends (or family), that I don’t value them, or that I’m not happy for them. It means that my losses and pain are bigger than an event or a celebration – or even a person – and need to be given space. 

It doesn’t matter what type of loss you have experienced, how long ago it was, or how early if it was pregnancy related loss – your grief is valid no matter when it happened. It is your loss and your pain and only you know what you are capable of, whether that’s going to the baby shower or wedding and celebrating with other people, or not attending and focusing on taking care of your wellbeing. Your friends and family should understand this, and if they don’t then I hope you manage to find people who do.