Maybe
I’m just coming to a less selfish point in my life, and realizing that not
everything is about me or directed at me in some way. What a shocking revelation that is…. It has occurred to me lately that we all need
to take a step back and see things for what they are—nothing more and nothing
less. In all the adoption classes we’ve
taken, and the difficult experiences we’ve had over the years with failed
fertility treatments, a failed adoption and everything in between, I have found
it interesting that we all compare our grief.
I’ve heard it from both ends, too.
I’ve had people who feel that the things they have experienced have been
worse than what I have experienced and they say something in the form of “well,
at least you didn’t have to _____________”.
And I’ve had people who were amazed at what we have been through say
something like “Wow, I’ve had ____________ happen, but that was nothing compared
to what you’ve dealt with”. It’s as if
all the painful experiences in life can be measured on a line, with one
standing behind the other in some grand descending order. So, how does it go? Does having to give my soon-to-be-adopted son
back to his father trump your miscarriage?
Is losing a parent farther down the grief line than losing a child? What if it was a more tragic death? And what
about dissimilar experiences? Does your ongoing
chronic health problem match up to my losing a job? Does my frustration with my weight win our
over your depression? We even do it with
children. My three-year-old can
experience some pretty big grief over losing a monster truck—a seemingly
insignificant thing, so should I just tell him, hey, I’ve lost a child, so suck
it up?
What
I have come to understand is that loss is just loss. It is the same emotion though perhaps driven
by different experiences. I’ve had many,
many friends over the years who were afraid to tell me they were pregnant,
especially if it was unplanned, and especially if they were not wanting to get
pregnant at that time or ever again. So,
does the stress and grief of a mother overwhelmed with several little children,
who just found out she was pregnant again when she had hoped to wait until
things had maybe settled down—does her grief go in front of or behind my grief
at not being able to get pregnant at all?
What about when my grief is magnified by years of failed fertility
treatments, including two very difficult rounds of invitro, neither of which
worked? Now do I win?
Loss
is loss. It is still grief. There may be degrees, but it is the same
sadness and pain and depression. We
would do well to stop comparing our emotions in an effort to either justify our
level of sadness, or to make ourselves or a friend or loved one “snap out of it
and be grateful for what you have.” The
truth is, most of us are very grateful for what we have. But, sometimes we are just sad and hurt over
something we have lost. Maybe it was a
loved one. Maybe it was the dream of
having that loved one. Maybe it was the
dream of a stable income or a good retirement or a healthy life or a home or a
particular friendship. During our
adoption/foster care classes, we got a little refresher course on the stages of
grief, and we learned how we have to move through each stage before we can
progress to the next one. No matter what
the loss is, our feet must touch each step. Some may be quicker than
others. We might breeze through denial
and then wallow a lot longer in anger before moving on, but they all have to
happen. It is something we all have in
common, so, in essence, we would do better to stop worrying about whose grief
is greater and whose deserves more sympathy, and just mourn with those who
mourn. Because, even though the driving
force may differ, we are sharing in the same experience. I’ve often told stressed mothers with several
children who felt like they couldn’t break down in front of me, that it is okay
for them to be sad and upset and stressed, and it's okay if I know about it.
I always say that they are learning the lessons of patience and
compassion through the difficult journey of caring for their children, and I am
learning the same lessons through the difficult journey of trying to have
children. Same lessons. Because patience is patience and compassion
is compassion and loss is just loss. No
grand sequential lineup. It just is. So cry on my shoulder because you’ve changed
3000 diapers today and soothed 26 temper tantrums and done 16 loads of laundry,
cooked 3 meals and 12 snacks, all with your husband deployed. And I will cry on your shoulder because the
cysts in my ovaries are extra painful today and I still have health
complications left over from the hormone manipulation that is invitro and my
aging parents are experiencing health problems and I don’t have two shiny nickels
to my name and my family is so far away and my long, long-awaited son keeps
asking for a baby brother and I can’t give him one, though it is my greatest
wish. And, then, soon enough, we will
eat some chocolate and laugh about our breakdowns and suck it up and be
grateful for what we have. But, for now,
let’s let ourselves grieve together. We
just might learn something from each other that will make our lives a little
bit better.