Sharing

Yesterday morning was really hard for me. I spent the first hour of the morning crying at the back of the bus. Nobody saw me. I was really quiet. I was having a private moment as best I could. 

Anyway, an Israeli colleague, who I don't know well, has been traveling with us. She brought along her husband and baby. I'm not sure how old the baby is but I'd say she's about eight months. This colleague came to the back of the bus to nurse her child and found me crying. 

When she was done nursing, she turned around and climbed next to me with the baby. She asked if everything was ok and I told her I was fine. She looked really concerned and asked if she and the baby could do anything for me. She then started babbling with baby, thinking that perhaps just being in the presence of her cute baby would cheer me up. How could I tell her that the baby could not cheer me up. Mostly I was looking at her thinking, "I was once like you."  "Did someone say something to hurt your feelings?", she asked me - heartfeltly.

I am not sure why I decide to tell some people and not others. Sometimes I make the right decision and other times I bomb, making myself feel worse. She has kind eyes though and is a mother and seems earthy and real. So, I told her about Max - something I regret. She didn't deserve to hear about him. And, she wasn't ready for it.

I swear I think if I had said that yes, someone had said something to hurt my feelings, she would have been more empathetic. When I told her that my child died, her face remained stone-like and she decided to share her thoughts about life and death, which were basically platitudinous. She believes everyone has their time and his soul was finished and so on and so forth - all the while making googley eyes with her own living, breathing child. I just nodded. I thought the speech would never end. According to her, my child's death was just meant to be. Easy for her to say.

The day before, I sat with the young head of our IT department and told him about Max and found a completely empathetic, sweet, and non judgmental soul. Yes, he's a father, but he never even brought up his kids. He just listened and agreed that life is so hard. He shared some hard stories of his own, but never compared our losses.  He wasn't afraid. He didn't try to fix me. 

It can be strange finding out who has it in them to be a friend and who really doesn't.

There have been a few incidents like the first one I described. One mother on my bus actually got annoyed with me for telling her about Max because she was trying to listen to someone else who was playing a game at the front of the bus. She apologized later for not being able to listen to me with a stone cold poker face.  Later she cried her eyes out while watching a film about special needs kids.  It doesn't add up.

Another bereaved parent on my bus says he never shares his son with anyone ever. (Yes, there are two of us on this trip! It's mind boggling). His son is much too precious and he doesn't want to be the topic of anyone's gossipy talk. I am often the opposite, wanting to share with everyone, because I feel completely inauthentic without talking about Max. His brief life defines, in large part, who I am today - just as my colleague's living baby seems to define her similarly.

The thing is - I decided not to let it get to me. There is a reason I keep Max close to me and don't share him with everyone. They don't always deserve to hear his story and I need to protect myself as well. It's a learning process for sure. I am an open book kind of person. I always have been. But, that is when my life was uncomplicated. My expectations are low. I'm easily impressed. The ones who listen and care make an impact. The ones who don't are fine - I politely smile at their response and remind myself not to share with them in the future.