My friend who I do know (now)

Yesterday was the most normal I have felt since Max's shiva ended.  I met Molly and her family before they left to go back home to Park City.  We were supposed to meet on Sunday but they all came down with a bug.  So, yesterday, I picked up lunch and went over to meet them at the house they were staying at in West LA.  She was so much better in 3D.  She was sweet and warm and compassionate.  And, although, our stories are so much different in the ways that we lost our children, our stories as bereaved parents are very similar.  We both lost our first and only.  We were both in the hospital with our children while they were hooked up to life support.  We both watched our children die.  We both suffered (in my case, am still suffering) from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  The way she described the most horrible scenes flashing in front of her at all times of day without warning was so familiar.  I always think about Maxie's beautiful smile and sweet disposition (and his tiny little hands, and chubby feet and perfect belly button) but I never know when those terrible scenes of him in the hospital will come rushing over me.  They make a lot of surprise attacks and it is really scary.  I met her husband Vic and their almost three year old son, Peter, too.  It was a really eye opening experience for me to see just how much they love their little boy.  I feel like I could never love another child as much as I love Max even though intellectually I know that can't be true.  A lot of what Vic told me about his experience mirrors what I see Ted going through as well.  Next time, I hope we can all meet together.  This family has been in the trenches and they are on their way out but Lucy is so with them still.  I know that they both still struggle and they told me that even still, almost four years later, they wake up and can't believe that it actually happened.  It was also the first time I have spent time with a little kid in months.  Gosh - I just love kids.  He was so full of energy and love.  I felt a little stab in my heart when he climbed onto his mommy's lap.  I longed for Maxie so much when I saw Peter get into his car seat with his little bee blankie and fall asleep.

Something I found interesting and that actually made me jealous really (if one can even BE jealous of another bereaved parent) was that she didn't relate to a lot of the strange comments I have received since Max died.  Nobody compared her loss to the loss of their dog or anyone else for that matter.  People in her community seemed to really understand that the loss of a little girl was incredibly tragic, not just something you get over.  That to be a parent, having to live each day without their child, was not the order of the world and shouldn't be.  She thinks that perhaps it was because so many members of her community were at church with them the day that Lucy choked.  It was their trauma too.  Yesterday evening I received an email from a bereaved parent who told me that one friend had made a comment about how the couple needed to be strong for their remaining child.  Bereaved parents KNOW these things.  We don't need you to tell us.  Mostly what we are thinking is "Easy for YOU to say".  The friend later apologized and the couple felt that perhaps the friend was just trying to be strong in the moment and forgot to be compassionate.  I am impressed that the friend even thought to apologize.  My experience has been that I have had to spell out in great detail exactly why hurtful comments hurt me to the person who made the comment.  Usually they even get defensive and mad at me in response for daring to say that they hurt me.  Anyway, it struck a chord.  Is that what has been going on?  Are people trying to be strong "for us" so that they don't have to be compassionate?  Or, because they feel strength is more important than compassion?  Or because they are just uncomfortable with compassion?  Ugh.  I don't need strong.  Ted and I have to be strong every day just to keep on living.  All I ever wanted was some compassion. I don't need your strength.  I know it isn't hard for you to be strong.  You didn't lose a child.  I know it might be a little harder for you to be compassionate - I think you are up for the challenge.

Another thing that I took away from my visit with Molly was to not feel bad about talking about Max when people ask me if I have children.  I struggle with this question.  Ted came up with a good answer to the one random stranger who asked him.  He said, "It's complicated" and left it at that.  A guy probably won't push any further.  Women usually do though.  I often say, "I had a son, but he passed away almost seven months ago".  When I say that, people look at me like I just ruined their day.  Or, they ignore it completely, like I never said it at all.  Molly told me she also just tells people about Lucy.  She said she doesn't tell them to punish them or make them feel uncomfortable.  She tells them because they asked.  If it takes people out of the comfort of their daily fog, then so be it.  We don't get the luxury of a protective shield.  I am already suffering day in and day out.  I don't really need the added stress of worrying how my loss will affect strangers.  I don't think I could ever say just say "No, I don't have any children".  I have a son whom I love very much, who lived a beautiful life, whose life had so much meaning, whose existence changed my life forever.

I loved meeting Molly, Vic and Peter.  Next time I see them, there will be a little girl with them too as Molly is five and half months pregnant.  We talked about dreams.  I told her that I dream about Max every single night now.  Usually I have bad dreams but once in a while, they are wonderful.  She told me that she has only dreamt about Lucy a few times since her passing.  That made me sad.  Last night, I actually dreamt about Molly and Lucy.  I dreamt that Lucy was sitting down in a chair and reaching for her mommy and that Molly was standing next to her and couldn't see her.  She did, however, have a smile on her face and her hands on her pregnant belly.  My subconscious brain wants to believe that Lucy is coming back to her.  Wouldn't that be lovely?