Replies to '05/27 The Dr. Phil House: Brat Camp, Part 3'

 

      I do understand her pain.   When I was first married, I promised to wait and begin our family when were in our early thirties.  I was 23, and it meant waiting for seven years.  My husband finished his education and had a better job at the newspaper.  He started out as a photographer and sports writer, and he progressed to being managing editor.  

     One night, I woke up convinced I was finally in labor.  Larry had taken the week off as a vacation from work so he could be there.  It was a beautiful night, the first day of May.  I was in a bit of pain.  In the labor room, I was puzzled as to why the nurses were digging with stethoscopes into my side.  And then, I knew.  It was so awful, I promised I wouldn't get upset until my doctor got there.  Larry was blissfully unaware--and only about half awake. 

     My doctor informed me that when "You can find a heartbeat with three stethoscopes and the Doppler, it is because there isn't one."  There is no graceful way to tell a mother that she is in labor, but her child is dead.  I had a full term stillbirth.  The first thing I ever did as a parent was sign my child's death certificate.  He was a handsome little 8 pound boy.  I named him Charles Laurence, after both his grandfathers. 

      And, my heart broke.

      I was deeply angry that God did not allow me to die, too.  I knew that Charlie was in heaven, but I sure wasn't.  Six weeks later, my pap smear results returned, "suspicious, probably malignant."  While awaiting my second biopsy to see if I would be having a hysterectomy that summer, I tried killing myself.  True, I wasn't being rational.  And, I didn't take nearly enough pills.

      Living after your heart has broken isn't as simple as "thinking positive thoughts."  I was in no mood to be cheered by my husband or my family or my friends.  I had a major depressive illness, and it was gonna be a life sentence.  True, the surgery and medication helped slow my cervical cancer. 

      The following summer, I became pregnant again. 

      I was worried sick.  I felt as if the roof had fallen in on me.  And, I strongly suspected it would happen, again.  I wasn't convinced that my second baby would live.  I found the only defense to my predicament:  I would not  love my baby.  If that's what it took to keep Jesus from taking my second baby to heaven with him, I wouldn't love my baby.  

       I had learned from watching Star Trek that people are not logical!!!  No one is capable of feeling, logically.  If you say how you feel about something, it is going to sound silly.  I did not care that my best girlfriend stared at me in disbelief.  My sister explained the Christian viewpoint, several times.  I was in no mood for listening.  

       I was a Steel Magnolia, and I didn't know it.     

 

                                           

     

        

There are a few things that you should never say to parents who have lost a child ( I know because I have lost one):

I know how you feel.

They are in a better place.

They are dancing and playing and singing with Jesus.

Arrrgggggghhhhhhh

Although you may mean well, these statements do not make us feel better. Sometimes it is better to just say nothing and let us cry or be angry.

When a parent looses a child their world ( as they knew it) ends, horribly.

So please understand that some of us can't go to a happy place being told our children are dancing with Jesus. All we feel is the pain of them being ripped away.

Not trying to be a bitch, just being honest. And I am sure you meant well.