Grace is Gone
May 23rd, 2011
First, let me say that I am not a fool, although I have been acting like one, and the fact that so many people took a few moments out of their day to think about me, leave me a comment or write me an email, is beyond meaningful to me, I can’t even tell you. What you might not know, though, is how much it means to my family. My parents read every last one of those comments, as did some of Adam’s family, and I just … well, thank you seems silly and fruitless, really, it does, but I wanted you to know that it’s not just me who reads them and appreciates them, even when I’m acting like I don’t. My mother and Adam’s Aunt Carol were particularly moved, just so you know.
Which brings me to … well, what I think strikes me the most about the past week, and was entirely unexpected, was — is, really — how quickly I turned into an ungracious asshole. I want to put it another way, but I can’t. I’m amazed and, quite honestly, totally saddened, by how fast I moved from being a person who could compose herself enough to be considerate to someone else, even with a thousand tiny darts sticking out of her chest, to someone who, frankly, did not give a shit about anyone but herself. Everyone said the wrong thing. Everyone. Sarah in Huntsville did NOT say the wrong thing, however, and captured my feelings perfectly when she said:
” I felt like dickpunching everyone who said ANYTHING to me about it, because there was nothing they could say that either didn’t make me sneer at them in derision or cry. But I also wanted to facestab the people who just kind of ignored the whole thing.”
I LAUGHED. Because my God, yes, that’s pretty much it. I also — and this is perhaps most disturbing — had this almost (and at times, more than almost) irrepressible urge to wave a verbal air horn in someone’s face after uttering something I deemed inappropriate. “WRONG!” the air horn would blat, loud and forceful, right in their foolishly loose lips. “WRONG! WRONG!” I could almost see their hair blowing back from the force of the blast, as I stomped away, stuffing the instrument back in my purse without looking back.
Oh, but if you didn’t say ANYTHING? Well, wait … this actually wasn’t so bad, I mean, unless it was one of my close friends, in which case, FLEE THE COUNTRY, IMMA COME GETCHOO WITH THE AIR HORN.
I mean, yes, there are a few people — a few that I am unwilling to forgive, like those who have publicly questioned my friendship and made demands on it until I acquiesced against my better judgment and then HA HA! never said a word to me about this. And the others, who gleefully talked about my FIRST pregnancy, over and over again, in a flurry of excited sisterly emails and then, when I lost THAT baby … nothing. Not a word since. Yes, people like that, I am finished with. But for the most part, I understand that no one knows what the fuck to say to someone in my situation, so they panic and say nothing and I don’t hold it against them.
(I am, by the way, married to a completely loving, kind, thoughtful person who tends to PANIC! and say nothing in these situations, so I understand this phenomenon more than most.)
Basically, it was just awful, I was just awful, and … well, I’m still kind of just awful, for I have these moments of outright horror at the things people say. Things that, actually, are not THAT horrifying, but in my addled state tend to be magnified to DEFCON 1: LOAD THE AIR HORNS. The problem with all of this is that it turns me into someone I don’t like, and I’m not particularly proud of, and if THAT isn’t an excellent spirit to pour into this magnificent cocktail of suckitude, I don’t know what is!
The one thing I will say is the absolute wrong thing to say is this: “I know how you feel.” No, you don’t. NO ONE DOES, because you are not me, and I am not you. Two people can go through the exact same experience on paper, and feel completely differently, and want to hear/need completely different things. I was stunned by commenter Auntie G’s revelation that she didn’t share her own happy ending with me, because when SHE went through the same thing, she wanted nothing to do with happy endings. Me, however? I drink them up like water in the desert.
So no. You don’t know how I feel, even when I describe it to you in exquisite detail.
***
I do, however, feel better. I am not fully healed, but it has just occurred to me that life will – and does – go on, and that life includes all the things I was looking forward to before (minus the baby). Fun things, like hitting the beach with my family and taking Sam to a summer full of water parks. And of course, the less-fun things like measuring the playroom for carpet tiles and finally getting rid of the ancient Ikea chairs. These things will, God willing, still happen, and I get to enjoy them just the same. It’s when I think about the future — the Other — that things get murky.
***
What remains, too, is this very strange, thin membrane separating me and a much sadder, emptier life than I thought I’d have. I don’t know how to put it any better than that. The membrane is not real; the alternate life isn’t even real, not even if it ends here and now with just Adam, Sam and me, which, I hasten to add, I don’t think it will. I felt this most acutely when I foolishly Googled myself into some message boards of the, uh, recurring miscarriage ilk, and got a glimpse into a world that I can’t seem to shake. A world where people — and please God help me, I am not judging, or at the very least, I am BUSTING MY ASS not to judge, for we all process grief differently — save their wee embryos (yes, I mean pre-12-week embryos) after D&C’s and dress them in hats and take pictures and hold funerals for them. It’s a culture — a cult, almost — that I can’t see myself ever being a part of, even if things had worked out differently, but God, it’s there, and it’s so close and it’s one of those things, like I said, I can’t shake.
I can’t say I would ever be the type to, um, dress my embryo in corduroy and denim (mine is, after routine chromosomal testing, being flushed with the hospital waste of the week, and maybe that seems heartless), but I guess what strikes me is that it’s so easy to see how it could happen; how CONSUMING it could be if you really dug your heels into a place like that. I feel like I am the thinnest air pocket away from being a person who buys clothes for her embryos, even though rationally, I know that’s not true.
Online communities — particularly ones that are highly specialized and focused — are extremely powerful. Please, one day let me regale you of the YEAR OF MY LIFE I spent embroiled in a — oh I can barely type it — CAT MESSAGE BOARD. WHERE PEOPLE TALKED ABOUT THEIR CATS. I DID THIS. I DID THIS. I, a perfectly well-adjusted, pretty twentysomething with lots of friends and a hot boyfriend (now husband), spent an UNGODLY AMOUNT OF TIME talking about the merits of wet food vs. canned and examining my cat’s stool for optimum health.
(If you’re wondering how it happened, it started because — surprise! — I was googling after discovering that my cat had recurrent urinary problems. And if you’re thinking that CAT MESSAGE BOARDS do not have flame wars, HA HA YOU ARE SO WRONG AND ARE YOU DYING, BECAUSE I AM DYING TYPING THIS OUT.)
(Also, I no longer own a cat, and in fact, hate cats. EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS HILARIOUS.)
These places are rabbit holes. RABBIT HOLES. And if I have any advice to anyone going through this, it is that maybe you should stick to blogs that talk about this kind of thing, and step away from the pinkie nail-sized knitted hats, for it struck me as a fast track to an insane asylum. Email Julie, who will probably say the perfect thing to you, even though she doesn’t know it. (To me, she simply said, “I AM APPALLED,” and honestly, I hold it with me, because it is so hilarious and so perfect, I don’t know why.)
Happy Tuesday, friends. Thanks for listening, and my apologies for my astonishingly douchey comments and written air horns over the last seven days.
*Dave Matthews Band, whatever. I’m not judging your tiny hats, so lay off my lame music.
Entry Filed under: All Riled Up,Infertile Myrtle,Miscarriage,Teh Second Baby,The anxious anxiety
113 Comments Add your own
1. jodifur | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:25 pm
I don’t know if what I said helped. And I don’t know if you got my follow up message or not, but I hope you know I’m thinking about you and I’m here if you want to talk. Or not. I’m here.
2. EmilysHollow | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:28 pm
The whole situation just sucks. But a blowhorn like that would be so incredibly awesome. Almost as awesome as a cat message board. Almost.
3. obabe | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:40 pm
i would pay money to watch you blowhorn people. youre in my thoughts, which may be totally creepy since i dont know you, but theres a stranger in chicago rooting for you.
4. Perpetua | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:41 pm
I want to say something not-airhorn-worthy, but beyond “I’m sorry,” it’s so hard to know what to say. And honestly, I’m stuck on those tiny hats. I’ve never seen such a thing, so my imagination is filling in the blanks. Oy.
I guess the thing that makes this hard (one of the things, one of the many things) is exactly that lack of an object to mourn, assuming the tiny hat route is not for you. You don’t really have memories that can be tied to a body outside of yours, or experiences outside of yours, so you have to figure out how to grieve for a thing that both is and is not you. And since our brains can’t really do that, they end up screwing with chronologies and mourning futures that have not yet happened (because in addition to losing that particular baby, you’ve lost that particular imagined future of due dates and the age Sam would have been when the new baby came and so on).
So what you end up with, in addition to the pain and the sadness, is a mindfuck. That’s the critical term for it, I swear.
Should have stuck to “I’m sorry.”
5. kathleen | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:42 pm
i agree with emily. the whole thing is terrible awful bad. and we all don’t know what to say, and we say the wrong thing, and it’s okay for you to be like: THAT’S NOT HELPFUL.
we’re fumbling, because unfair terrible things make us fumble-y. and it’s okay that you are fumbling as you listen to us.
6. Dr. Maureen | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:44 pm
Hey! I like Dave Matthews. I will never understand why Dave Matthews was so great and then, suddenly, not. *I* still like him. I will now insert an emoticon to ensure you know I am not actually insulted.
You sound like you’re doing better, and I hope that you are.
7. jonniker | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:45 pm
I’m going to bullshit AIR HORN! that comment, Maureen, because I TOTALLY like Dave Matthews TOO.
And everyone, please do not panic about saying the wrong thing. Honestly. My writing this was trying to be honest about why *I* react badly to the things people say, not call people out and chastise them, I promise. It seems I did that badly, and I’m sorry.
8. Liss | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:46 pm
I totally understand that “panic!” reaction – being so afraid of saying the WRONG thing that you say nothing. I also think that it’s part of being a grown-up to be able to push through that for the people you actually care about, even if it’s just to say “Oh no. I’m sorry. I have no idea what to say, but I love you and I’m here.”
So I will leave you with a happy ending story: one of my dearest friends struggled with recurrent miscarriages. A lot of them. (Enough that I sometimes wonder how she had not just gone stark raving mad from it.) She kept on, though, and thanks to some serious guts and a helping of modern medical science she is now the mother of three gorgeous boys. (Um, not all at once. One at a time, so I guess it’s three happy endings.)
9. Elizabeth | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:46 pm
I just want you to know I love and adore you, no matter what.
10. april | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:51 pm
I also did not say anything, because I didn’t know what to say. I feel bad, and I couldn’t even have said “I know how you feel” in my own way, because I don’t. But I hope that ranting and blow-horning people makes you feel better because you deserve to feel better.
Being the mother of a child who is gone, no matter what the progress in the pregnancy or the age of the child, is lonely, isolating and angering. Do what you need to do and know that you have people behind you when you are ready to have people.
11. Sundry | May 23rd, 2011 at 9:57 pm
I so wish I could be one of those people that says Just the Right Thing but in lieu of that, you should know I’ve been thinking about you and wishing things were easier AND I LIKE YOU OKAY? GOD WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME SOUND LIKE SUCH A DICK.
xoxo, Linda
12. Elsha | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:01 pm
I HATE it when people say, “I know how you feel.” Because exactly what you said– you are not me and I am not you. And I especially hate it when people who have not even been through a similar situation say it.
After I miscarried my first pregnancy I had a couple of friends say things like, “Oh, I know how you feel. I worried a lot about miscarriage” and then rub their HUGE PREGNANT BELLIES. I only wish I were kidding.
13. jonniker | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:02 pm
ELSHA I AM WEARING AOOGA EYES AND ALSO BLASTING AN AIR HORN.
Aso, FWIW, my biggest struggle has been that: someone who went through one loss, two (or three) pregnancies ago, and is currently pregnant DUE WHEN I WAS DUE THE FIRST TIME and then tells me they know. OMFG. I REALIZE YOU MIGHT THINK YOU KNOW BUT BELIEEEEVE MEEEE YOU DOOO NOOOOT KNOW. Just as there will, God willing, be a time when I only sort of can imagine.
14. Maggie | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:03 pm
I’m just sorry. So sorry. I’m sorry it’s happening to you.
I am married to a college-garage-band-wannabe-DMB and thus I was forced to hear every song in their book and while Dave’s not my fave, I really love ‘Grace Is Gone’. One of the few times I automatically knew your title!
15. Ginger | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:07 pm
When my FIL died, my husband went through a period where he raged against everything that was said to him about it. I’m sorry didn’t cut it. I know how you feel was bullshit. He’s in a better place? The people who said that better hold on because the lashing they would get was hurricane force. There were no words, none, that were right. Not from me, not from anyone.
Grief is that way sometimes. I don’t think it reflects poorly on you, Jonna, the person. Grief is a massive mindfuck that takes the things you think you know about yourself and your world and your worldview and flips it all around like it’s a rock tumbler. Things that would have brought you comfort don’t. Words that would have been a balm, aren’t. It’s grief.
Anyone who would fault you for that? Well, maybe they haven’t experienced grief that way before. It’s not something you should have to apologize for.
16. Jessica | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:18 pm
I think you handled this rather gracefully. I follow on Twitter and I saw a lot of your rage-y posting but it’s completely warranted! You are allowed to be sad and angry and let it out. So many people have no idea what to say during times of grief and end up saying the wrong things to the wrong person.
17. elz | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:20 pm
There really are no words I can think of (which says something because I can haz wordz). Not to change subjects, but cat message boards? I’m strangely interested. Seriously, please pretend that I’m saying everything right. Because “sorry” doesn’t seem enough.
18. shriek house | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:20 pm
At the risk of this being the wrong thing to say, I think you get a pass. I think you get a pass to say or feel whatever douchey thing crosses your mind because you are grieving and grieving people GET AN EFFING PASS. (Though I did not witness anything particularly douchey at any time. For the record.)
I am so sorry. This blows.
(Also? I might have to borrow your LOAD THE AIRHORNS on occasion, if you don’t mind.)
19. Life of a Doctor's Wife | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:25 pm
The “WRONG” air-horn seems like it’s just begging to be invented. It would be so good in so many situations and for so many type of jerkfaces.
I’m so sorry you are going through this.
20. Kristina | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:35 pm
This just sucks, no matter what you do, no matter what anyone else says. It just fucking sucks. I really think people get so flustered that they just spew out whatever pops into their head. I said something so stupid and awful to someone really close to me after she had a miscarriage that I still wonder if I should apologize for it (even though she is a happy-ending person now) but I’m afraid it would just bring it up unnecessarily. And I didn’t even mean to say it, it just came out, because I just wanted to commiserate with her, you know, make her not feel so alone. Ugh.
And I totally agree that it’s just horrible when the people who should be there for you just….aren’t. My brother was killed in March and I thought that maybe by Christmas, my friends would finally show up and be there for me. But for the whole month of December, it was just crickets. Nothing. I don’t think I received one phone call from anyone who wasn’t a close family member. It was crushing. I didn’t need them to say the RIGHT thing, I just needed them to say SOMETHING, especially during a time that was going to be so hard.
Anyway, I should shut up now. Sending you peaceful thoughts.
21. Jennifer | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:36 pm
I held back from saying anything because the only thing I would have said is that I’m praying for you. I imagine that may have been the wrong thing too, but I was and I still am.
22. Mama Bub | May 23rd, 2011 at 10:39 pm
My mom used to say that she wished she had a button she could push in her car that would flash a sign to idiot drivers like “Are you freaking kidding me?” Except, that my mom’s signs wouldn’t be at all offensive (and therefore not at all desirable) because my mom is the kind of person that says “fudge” when she’s frustrated. She said the f-word (I can’t even type the real word while talking about my mother) once, and I called my dad immediately to tell him about it.
Um, not sure where I was going with this. Oh! WRONG air horn. Get on it.
Also, I’m sorry. I hate that this is happening to you. Again.
23. Cheken | May 23rd, 2011 at 11:06 pm
I’m the only one that’s going to address the message board group-think worm hole madness? Especially the medical-ish ones? How one mosquito bite turns into OMG I’m intolerant to lactose fructose gluten animal protein rice nightshades froot loops and linoleum! And you are too! THE MAN IS OUT TO GET YOU WITH SCIENCE!
As for the rest of it. It just sucks. Telling you it could be worse or I felt the same way or you should or it’s meant to be or be thankful that… tit punches to the lot of them. I’ve already risked airhorning multiple times, but Xanax is awesome.
I personally found the worst thing people could do/say (not during a miscarriage but other health crisis) would just be too scared to talk to me or ask me about it or ask anyone else or check in for really long periods of time. It was a surreal isolation, for me.
24. H | May 23rd, 2011 at 11:16 pm
That’s just it – grief is unique to each person and each situation. It just is. No one should judge you. No one knows exactly how you feel.
I love the air horn. I’m going to use that imagery.
25. Carla Hinkle | May 23rd, 2011 at 11:21 pm
When faced with the grief of others I often don’t know what to say–I usually err on the side of saying SOMETHING, which I’m sure is not always the right thing but I hate to say NOTHING.
When experiencing loss or grief of my own, I always feel sort of embarrassed, like somehow I brought this Bad Situation on myself even when that’s clearly impossible.
Anyway. From all of us that “know” you but don’t really KNOW you, we’re all thinking of you and sorry you’re hurting. I’m sure you’re near the top of the list of many people’s Friends Inside the Computer. Mine, for sure.
26. Carrie (in MN) | May 23rd, 2011 at 11:29 pm
I didn’t know what to say but I also knew that your reactions were grief and that whatever you were feeling, you were entitled to feel it. I am sorry, and you have been on my mind.
27. Erin | May 23rd, 2011 at 11:31 pm
I’M APALLED.
Blow your airhorn, Jonna. You are absolutely right, in that no one knows how you feel. Just know we care, and when there is anything we can do to help, distract, or whatever, we’re hEre.
Hugs.
28. Carmen | May 24th, 2011 at 12:02 am
I’ve gotta say, I’m nervous about the Air Horn. Everyone’s Air Horn, actually. Not just yours. I am socially awkward and I am always worried that I will say or do the wrong thing. But I am very sorry that you are hurting and I am thinking of you and sending lots of hugs your way.
29. Kate | May 24th, 2011 at 12:25 am
I’m totally picturing Jim Carrey in The Mask…isn’t there a scene where his lips kind of turn into an air horn of some sort?? “Iiiiii–ooooo—gah!!” (How does one spell that sound exactly??)
Anyway, air horn away. You’re entitled. There are some people out there who just shouldn’t open their mouths, but then there are others who are just fumbling to say the right thing. And get it wrong.
So before I tumble into that category, I’ll just say again how sorry I am that you’re going thru this. It’s just not fair. Virtual hugs to you and your family.
30. Page | May 24th, 2011 at 2:46 am
I’m thinking of you, and oh my gosh, I have to thank you for warning me away from message boards way back when. You set the bar for me on what was acceptable behavior after a miscarriage, and let me know it was ok to grieve. And I don’t even know you. You are that rad.
Ginger nailed how I feel about grief- it’s an entirely personal mindfuck that strips you raw and sends you tumbling. I’m always inspired by the way you don’t veil yourself from us.
I have a friend at work who was due at the same time as I was, and was incredibly gracious and real about it. Her pregnancy was accidental, and she could see how affected I was by being around her as she talked about it. She took me on a walk one morning, told me about her own previous miscarriage and told me how deeply sorry she was that I had to go through such a thing.
She excused me from baby showers and the like, and told me that if I wanted to hang with her, ask any questions, or dump on her with anything that she was there. When she was admitted to the hospital unexpectedly, she called me to help, and when her son was born, I was the first invited to see him. When he turned one, she took me aside and gave me a long hug, without words. Some people do get it, thank goodness, but that shit is so rare.
Tell your family that I am so sorry for their losses, and that I think of y’all every day.
Oh, and your Christmas card is going in the mail tomorrow .
31. Swistle | May 24th, 2011 at 6:20 am
My mom often quotes the book C. S. Lewis wrote after his wife died, where he says that if people said things, they were all the wrong things—and if they said nothing, that was wrong too. Because there WAS nothing right to say or not say.
32. Christine | May 24th, 2011 at 6:23 am
Ah gosh, I am just so sorry about the whole thing. Although really? cat boards J? (I jest, I jest!) Sending you and the family lots of love and compassion.
And I’m a jerk all the time, so don’t feel too badly, air horn away for a while.
33. Swistle | May 24th, 2011 at 6:24 am
P.S. Also, for a time I belonged to a group devoted entirely to “having long hair.” Lots of discussion about the exact temperature of water that was too warm. I also at one point belonged to a group that was formed entirely around a certain brand of doll. A certain. brand. of DOLL.
34. Dr. Maureen | May 24th, 2011 at 6:45 am
Hey Elsha, I didn’t even HAVE an air horn, but I went out an bought one specifically to blast it at those people who said that to you. Seriously? I think we can all agree that while there is no right thing to say, or at least no universally right thing to say, there are definitely some universally wrong things.
35. Sara | May 24th, 2011 at 7:08 am
Honestly, fear of something like an airhorn is why I didn’t leave a comment before. Nothing ever feels “right” or substantial enough in a situation like this. But you and your family have been in my thoughts and I am hoping for your happy ending.
BTW, on a much lighter note, I also think of you every time I hear Adele’s Rolling in the Deep now. And I have to agree, as much as I love Lea & Jonathan, what they did to that song was illegal!
36. Julia | May 24th, 2011 at 7:25 am
Hi, delurking to say I am so sorry.
37. emily | May 24th, 2011 at 7:34 am
It is so hard to be gracious in a situation like this, but you have been, Jonna. I mean, yes, at first you were just raw emotion, but a post like this is just you being you – being gracious with those who reached out and tried to help in their own (sometimes crappy) ways.
Thinking of you often.
Emily
38. the grumbles | May 24th, 2011 at 7:37 am
Cockpunch is probably the wrong thing to say, but there it is. Cockpunch.
I think you’re handling this whole thing with a lot of grace very much to your credit. Teh internet is thinking about you.
I once belonged to a message board solely about rottweilers. Yes, there can be flame wars about rottweilers, oh yes. Bad ones. There are scary microcosms out there.
39. Maura | May 24th, 2011 at 7:38 am
I think air horns are perfectly acceptable and much more graceful than, say, a sledgehammer to the little toe. The hardest part about grief, for me, is that it is a physical ache that you can’t shake and sometimes I think I’d prefer a sledgehammer to a toe than to feel that feeling for a second longer.
I’m so sorry and I think about you and your family often.
40. Kerry | May 24th, 2011 at 7:43 am
Stop apologizing. There is nothing wrong with you or your airhorn. You’re supposed to have feelings, and somethings the feelings are mostly anger. Your real friends are there to help mop some of that up…to absorb it, like in the Bounty paper towel commercial. That’s pretty much the whole point of friends. The real ones will understand why you need an airhorn in a deal like this, and love you anyway.
41. Kristen | May 24th, 2011 at 7:53 am
I’m definitely thinking of you through this, and wish there was something WONDERFUL! and HELPFUL! I could say, but I’ll send positive thoughts your way and hope that does something.
And oh my god, the hats. Well done on finding it, noting the absurdity without passing serious judgment, and knowing how close you could be while choosing to never let yourself become that. This makes me confident that, although you’re struggling now, you absolutely know who you are and that girl, the girl we all know and love, is on her way back.
42. LizScott | May 24th, 2011 at 7:54 am
I stand by my offer to send you cases of cheap wine. I mean, I KNOW that alcohol is not an appropriate coping mechanism, but fuck it, right?
It seems like you could use a glass of wine, is what I’m saying.
I’m sorry that this – all of this- is happening. And I’m very sorry that you’re in a place where the dark, dark corners of the internet are calling your name. I feel like that’s akin to when Stevie Nicks lyrics start REALLY MAKING SENSE – which is to say, not good.
43. jonniker | May 24th, 2011 at 8:10 am
Oh, Liz, fear not, I have been drinking rather heavily. Which, for me, means TWO WHOLE GLASSES of wine in a night. Big ones. GIANT ones. 22 ounce glasses, in fact. OMFG.
Ah, well. This shall pass.
44. Zoot | May 24th, 2011 at 8:11 am
This line right here:
“What remains, too, is this very strange, thin membrane separating me and a much sadder, emptier life than I thought I’d have.”
Is a perfect description to where I’ve been after ever miscarriage. No matter how long I lasted before miscarrying, that other life was “real” and suddenly…not. Whether it happened with a D&C, or on the floor of my bathroom…suddenly? That life was gone. You explained it perfectly.
45. Slim | May 24th, 2011 at 8:23 am
I am the sort of asshole who after one miscarriage wanted my husband to be as sad as I was, because how could he not? and also wanted him to be fine so that he could handle basic life maintenance, such as taking care of our kid (WHO I WAS LUCKY TO HAVE THANK YOU FOR POINTING THAT OUT RANDOM PERSONS WITH WHOM I WILL NEVER SHARE MY FEELINGS AGAIN), because I was having trouble with that.
46. LizScott | May 24th, 2011 at 8:28 am
You say two 22 oz glasses, I say a bottle… oh kids, let’s not fight, we’re BOTH right
47. hydrogeek | May 24th, 2011 at 8:31 am
This is why I told nobody except my husband and my mom about my miscarriages until YEARS later. And I’m not what you’d call a private person usually. I just knew that my airhorn finger would be on high alert and I didn’t want to deal with the idiots. (Thank you for that imagery, it’s perfect.)
And Elsha, somebody needs a smack down, and I think I know just the person to give it. I mean, if anyone ever deserved a dog turd on a cracker it’s the person who said that to you.
48. Catkins | May 24th, 2011 at 8:33 am
I was one of those who didn’t say anything. Partly because I never comment, and it would seem hollow.
But I’ve thought about you almost every day, and am still just wishing you strength and happiness.
49. heidi | May 24th, 2011 at 9:01 am
Feel free to blow the air horn at me. I never know what to say and when I don’t it’s because of the air horn fear. But you have made me realize it’s better to have the air horn in my face than not say anything at all. So, I am still thinking of you and your family. Good thoughts are heading your way.
50. Lawyerish | May 24th, 2011 at 9:04 am
Well, I will cop to being one who says something and then PANIC! sets in and I fret for DAYS about whether I said the wrong thing and deserve the air horn. I’m not asking to be reassured that I said the right thing, to you or to anyone else (because, really, that’s not the FOCUS here), I’m just saying that I am one who will obsess for really a very long time over whether I might have inadvertently said something idiotic to a friend who is going through something shitty.
I’m sorry. That pretty much sums it up.
51. -Jen | May 24th, 2011 at 9:23 am
I somehow want to hire someone to be in charge of airhorns now. (so I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about using it later, and because I know I deserve a blast in the face at times)
Message boards – gah! The amount of time I spent on them should not be known publicly.
Please know that there are positive thoughts for you and your family from many corners of the world, including mine in Colorado.
52. Kristabella | May 24th, 2011 at 9:32 am
I’m sorry, I cannot get past the cat message boards! HAHAHAHAHA! That is the best thing you’ve ever shared!
HAHAHAHAHA! Wet food vs. canned! HAHAHAHA!
53. Calliope | May 24th, 2011 at 9:49 am
I honestly wonder what people DO when they go through shit in life and don’t have a blog. I mean HOW do they process?
Sometimes people really don’t know what to say when they are a witness to someone else’s awful. When I blogged about some pretty dark and twisty feelings about Alzheimer’s I frankly didn’t want to weed through people’s comments trying to make me feel better. Because those comments made me feel worse. I just needed to get the feelings out and step over them and move on.
This shit is hard. And some people will never know this kind of hard, and some people will know this kind of hard x 10.
And you are wrong, your grace is not gone.
54. Mandee | May 24th, 2011 at 9:53 am
This post is exactly why I’ve taken the stance of simply saying, “I’m sorry,” and then shutting up and listening. It may be listening to silence, but that’s all I’m going to do. Except maybe reassure you that you are not nuts. Grief is just such an incredibly personal process – whatever you need to do to get through it works.
Also, this post is why I love you. WRONG airhorn and cat message boards in your post about grief? You win.
P.S. – I love DMB, too.
55. Sarah Lena | May 24th, 2011 at 10:03 am
I hate everyone, except for the people I like.
You have pretty much persuaded me to go to Austin, btw. Because there is much fun to be had.
56. Kate | May 24th, 2011 at 10:27 am
I’m so sorry you’re in this. Grief is such a nasty beast, and unfortunately, I’ve found for myself that the only way out is through. The kicker is that there is no one way to get there, so you’re forced to find your own route at the same time people around you are (lovingly but misguidedly) trying to show you their shortcuts. However, there are no shortcuts through grief, hence the itchy trigger finger on the airhorn. Hey, if what you consider assholery works for you, then let ‘er rip. We’ll all be here to see you through to the other side, because we know it’s just your process, not your funny and gracious self, as this post so aptly demonstrates.
However, cat message boards? THAT I judge.
57. jonniker | May 24th, 2011 at 10:37 am
HAAA. Thank GOD at least a few of you find the cat message boards funny because COME ON.
58. Halyn | May 24th, 2011 at 11:14 am
Oh, Jonniker…the cat message board revelation has completely blown my image of you. I have to totally re-think my previous admiration.
What am I saying? I post on Fark, for christ’s sake. FARK. And I may have once belonged to a board devoted to a very trashy series of bad romance novels. I am not copping to which series.
Someone really needs to get on inventing that airhorn. That’s awesome.
Oh, and I love you. Totally don’t know you, but love you.
59. Josefina | May 24th, 2011 at 11:24 am
The message boards you described gave me a parade of distressing images that will not stop marching through my mind. I am floored. Also, I would love to see your posts on the cat board, because I think that would be some entertaining stuff.
Three friends of mine suffered terrible losses. They reacted in a very similar way, with the WRONG airhorn. For me, as a bystander, it was scary, scary enough to stun me into silence. I regret that. I’ve since seen that the feeling–and the need to express it somehow to someone– that some things people say are wrong! wrong! wrong! is a normal and reasonable reaction to suffering a great loss, which you did. And I’m so very sorry you did. Please just do what you need to do.
60. jonniker | May 24th, 2011 at 11:33 am
One of my most fervent wishes is to actually be the person that so many of you seem to say I am. I don’t know what to say other than that. Other than thank you.
61. Jessica | May 24th, 2011 at 12:15 pm
Whether you were actually an ungracious asshole or not, you totally had/have the right to be. I have no idea how I would deal with what you’re going through, but I do know it would be NOT WELL.
62. obabe | May 24th, 2011 at 12:37 pm
i had to comment about the wine drinking. two days before my D+C two weeks ago i was cramping and emotional and about to lose my shit entirely. i poured a bottle of wine into the straw sippy cup they give your FROM THE WOMENS HOSPITAL AFTER HAVING A BABY and drank it in the bath.
and for the record, my OB said that was the perfect thing to do when i told her before she did the D+C.
am tempted to look up these message boards, but thats a rabbit hole i dont have time for at work.
63. Reading (and chickens) | May 24th, 2011 at 1:07 pm
Oh no. I won’t say I know how you feel, but I was a total asshole after my second miscarriage. My (sweet, caring) father-in-law told me I still looked pregnant and maybe I HADN’T just had a miscarriage, and WOW if there wasn’t enough hellfire in the world to burn him with that. Sorry sorry sorry. I hope you feel a little more healed, soon.
64. Kate | May 24th, 2011 at 1:14 pm
You really are the person that everyone thinks you are.
I love love love love love you.
65. jonniker | May 24th, 2011 at 1:14 pm
Reading, I’m just sitting here laughing nervously, not because it’s funny, but because I DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO. IT IS THE MOST AWFUL THING I HAVE EVER HEARD.
AIR HORN AIR HORN WRONG! WRONG!
Kate: Aaaand, now I’m sobbing. Thank you.
66. Deb | May 24th, 2011 at 1:21 pm
I am so, so sorry for your loss, and Adam’s loss, and Sam’s and all the aunties and other family members who already loved that little life.
And I LOVE THE AIRHORN, except if it were mine, perhaps it would yell Fuck YOU! just to more effectively communicate the violence of my feelings.
And maybe it will even have a giant, white, cartoon boxing glove that can scissor out and dickpunch the worst offenders.
Thinking of you (in a completely not-creepy way. obviously).
67. Slim | May 24th, 2011 at 1:32 pm
Did you know they make purse-sized airhorns?
Buy ‘em buy the case!
68. TwoBusy | May 24th, 2011 at 2:16 pm
You are much-loved.
You know that, right?
69. Jessica | May 24th, 2011 at 3:40 pm
I always want to buzzer people, but I never know how to write it. You know, like the buzzer at the end of a basketball game? Or a game show: RRRRRRNNNNNNNNTTTTTTTTT! WRONG! I can make the sound, but it always seems weird when I’m writing. But somehow, writing AIRHORN seems much simpler.
And I think you have the right to AIRHORN your heart out!
(And by the way, if I had the power, I’d totally be mailing you an AIRHORN after work today. With a bow on it.)
70. julie | May 24th, 2011 at 3:56 pm
I love you, Jonna.
Now I’m going to google cat message boards.
71. Michelle | May 24th, 2011 at 5:33 pm
I’m so sorry Jonna.
72. ABDPBT | May 24th, 2011 at 8:21 pm
Yeah, I never know what to say and usually say something and think, “Damn it, why did I say that?!” But still, dressing up the embryos? I hate to judge how people grieve, but yes, I think stepping away from that is probably a good idea.
I’m so sorry.
73. Marieka | May 24th, 2011 at 9:24 pm
I too held off commenting on your last post for fear of trying to say something comforting, but falling short.
I’m so, so sorry that this happened to you.
And I don’t even know you, but I think that you are the person that so many people think that you are.
74. Diane | May 24th, 2011 at 9:33 pm
Kate, that is a perfect comment and I am just going to agree with it. Perfect and true jonna.
75. Jeanne | May 24th, 2011 at 10:22 pm
Jonna,
The AIRHORN OF WRONG is pure genius and I plan to shamelessly steal it for my own use. I have a lot of internal commentary that could easily be replaced with a well placed imaginary AIRHORN. Truly, you’ve saved me so much effort coming up with witty retorts I’ll never say out loud anyway.
I’m so sorry Jonna, that you’ve had to go through this. Also I would like to note, I deleted the additional space I place after each period on this FOR YOU. Wishing you well…
76. Lippy | May 24th, 2011 at 11:18 pm
I also struggle with the right thing to say and feeling like I should come up with the perfect thing to say, which is impossible. I have thought of you often since the first miscarriage, and my heart broke for you reading your last post. It is truly unfair.
77. relaxmammal | May 25th, 2011 at 8:31 am
I also was a little freaked out about doing the wrong thing. Like, I’m just a dumb kid but I do know better than to say “I know how you feel” or to tell horrid unhappy-ending stories.
I did have a moment of slight panic after I did that doodle of Sam for you, cause I thought it toed the line of the “at least you have Sam” camp. Which, no. NO NO NO, hearing those things made me facestabby on your behalf because Jesus, it’s not like you FORGOT ABOUT HER.
I know we’ve only talked a few times but my heart did break for you through all this. It is possible to hurt with someone without telling them you know how they feel, and I do. <3
78. Li | May 25th, 2011 at 8:46 am
I love you.
79. Morrigan | May 25th, 2011 at 9:37 am
I’m so sorry. Like so many others here, I have been thinking of you and wishing I could say something helpful, but was pretty sure that whatever I said would be wrong.
Because you say you are drinking up good news stories, I will share that my mother had three miscarriages before me and two between me and my brother. Sometimes it really does turn out OK.
You need to grieve in the way that works for you. Just know that you have a whole corner of the internet where you’re allowed to do it and we will all support you through it.
80. Becky | May 25th, 2011 at 1:15 pm
I didn’t comment before – mainly because you don’t know me and I didn’t want to be the awful stranger feeding you some Pollyanna story.
But I will say my mom had three miscarriages after my older sister … let me just say that I’m glad she stuck with it or I wouldn’t be here.
I have absolutely no idea how you feel – but you and your family are in my thoughts.
81. Jen | May 25th, 2011 at 1:56 pm
Only you can take such a miserable and heartbreaking situation and write a ridiculously honest and hilarious post about airhorns (I WANT ONE.) and cat message boards. HUGS, lady. xoxo
82. Korinna | May 25th, 2011 at 2:51 pm
We had a rough-go after our daughter was born and stayed put in the hospital for a long ass time and it was, and still is, interesting to me how my friends responded. A life-long from elementary school friend, rarely heard from. People I’ve only ever chatted with online and others on the more “fringe” of my life, checking in so very much when I’m sure they didn’t know how much I needed it.
Having come through that time, it can be strange to think back to what was, and how I was during that time. It was me, and yet it wasn’t.
We are strangers but I’ve thought a lot about you and have hoped for your emotional and physical healing.
83. natalie | May 25th, 2011 at 9:08 pm
I love DMB!
Free pass, and anyone else who doesn’t get that should bug off. Take as long as you need.
You are so brave to share your experience with everyone.
84. velocibadgergirl | May 25th, 2011 at 10:26 pm
Cat message board flamewars. Oh my god, the possibilities are endless. And horrifying. But grimly fascinating.
I can’t blame you for the airhorn thing, either, really. The whole situation is just such a pile of unfair shit, and apparently I’m still really cranky on your behalf.
85. Julie K | May 26th, 2011 at 2:37 pm
“Mommy, whenever an airhorn blows, someone gets a nutpunch.”
You just killed me with DEFCOM 1, LOAD THE AIRHORNS.
(I once joined a board for people talking about their broken legs. For some it was the pinnacle of their adult experience, and they savored it for years later.)
But the whole deal? Sucks beyond the expressing of it, and I’m very very sorry that it happened to you.
86. bethany actually | May 26th, 2011 at 11:00 pm
You experience heartbreak twice in a row, you are ALLOWED all the lame music you want, along with a few douchey comments and written airhorns. Those who love you will forgive it all.
I’m so, so sorry for your losses, Jonna.
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88. Rachael | May 28th, 2011 at 10:55 am
I don’t know how you feel–and I don’t presume to, but if you are interested in one “happy ending”…we had one son, and then in 5 years we had 4 miscarriages and I basically stopped even hoping, much less telling anyone, b/c I would cry, even now, describing why we kept trying. But I found a dr. who actually approached it rationally–started meds as soon as we conceived–and we have our happy ending. The boys are 6 years apart (gah!) and actually, such good friends–I could not have planned it better–but, the 5 years were hell. And I drank, and was sad a lot–and lost some friends–but I have better ones now! Be kind to yourself-screw the rest!
89. alimartell | May 29th, 2011 at 9:32 pm
I hate that I am reading this news…and that I am just reading it now.
I want to punch something in the face for you.
This fucking sucks, Jonna, and I HATE that you are going through this.
xoxo
90. Marie Green | May 30th, 2011 at 5:10 pm
I read this post awhile ago and my comment was RIGHT THERE in my brain, but it refused to come out. I’ve been mostly off the grid lately but thinking of you so often. When I (re)read this quote, I knew this was, in essence, exactly what I wanted to say to you:
Speaking about someone in her church going blind and withdrawing from her friends: “It must have been annoying for everyone to be trying to manipulate her into being a better sport than she was capable of being. I always thought that was heroic of her, that it spoke of such integrity to refuse to pretend that you’re doing well just to help other people deal with the fact that sometimes we face an impossible loss.” -Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies
I respect the hell out of you, Jonna, and however you need to handle this. I have so much love and hope for you and your family. Xoxoxo.
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94. Farrell | June 12th, 2011 at 8:30 am
I wish I had an airhorn too. Though it’s hard to blow it to people who ignore the situation. Many people do not know how to express empathy and it is a shame.
Again, I’m experiencing the same reactions from some of my “friends” that you are, but over a different situation.
It’s times like these when you find out who your true friends are, and sometimes it’s disappointing to discover a person is not who you thought they were.
I have many happy stories if that is what you need right now – of friends who have gone through this – and I’d be glad to tell you them.
This is a sucky, hard, sad situation and I’m sorry you’re going through it.
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