Six weeks ago, I lost my baby at 21 weeks. Many of my friends have vanished. There were the initial "I am crying for you"s and "I am thinking of you"s sent through the ether... but those have been replaced by silence. There have been a few exceptions-- and do I ever cherish those exceptions-- but, by and large, I've become a contagion.

Has this happened to anyone else? Or does this just say something about me and/or my so-called friends?

Nope. It's not just you. I call it a deafening silence. Everyone has run out of things to say to you and it's been just long enough that they don't want to say something to "remind" you that your baby died (my mother was big on not "reminding" me - because you know, I might have totally forgotton my babies died). All you hear is what they aren't saying. They don't know any better. They don't know what to do because this is awful and horrible and they'd rather forget it happened. I picked a couple of close friends and sent an email that said something along the lines of "I need you to check on me. I know that sounds needy and pathetic but I can't do this alone and I won't pick up the phone to call you because I just can't. I'll get better, I'll be some version of me I swear and someday I will return the favor but I need you to talk to me about my babies."

It worked for about 5 of the 8 people I sent it to. And then I just made new friends from my blog and post here when I need to talk.

Sadly, this is your new reality. You will lose friends because of this. One blog I read talked about her address book taking a real hit after the death of her daughter (Still Life in Circles, I think). It sucks and I'm sorry you are part of this club but there are lots of us here to talk to.

Thank you, Martha. I know that it is my new reality and I need to get used to it. It makes me feel better to know that I am not alone. And the logic of people pretending like our children never existed because they don't want to "remind" us... I'll never get that logic.

I've thought about contacting people and saying something along the lines of what you said... but when I think of doing that, it seems akin to saying: "It is my birthday. This is the present I want you to give me." In my mind, I think: What value does something have unless it is given because somebody wants to give it, rather than because they feel compelled to give it? On the other hand, I realize that, if I don't give people some slack, I will lose several friends. Are these friends even worth the effort? I guess that is the question I need to ask myself. I just feel so angry that I need to figure out whether I am going to forgive people's failure to support me. Shouldn't they be the ones worried about how I feel??

How unfair is this hand we've been dealt? You lose your child, the worst loss anyone can suffer, and then you have to lose friends on top of it all.

Nope it happened to me too. There was a blow out with some friends who insisted I wouldn't let them do anything, that I refused to let them help me, that I only listened to what I wanted to hear and was ignoring them because I got so frustrated repeating myself over and over when they refused to hear that I was not ready for drugs/counseling. They insisted I was too wrapped up in my grief and too sad. I do believe they genuinely wanted me to be better and I believe they genuinely cared for me and felt I was in danger, but man, it all went downhill fast.

I thought we had moved past it, but they simply stopped communicating with me. Emails and texts went ignored or received one sentence responses. Getting together or chats were abruptly put off with 'Let's talk later!' and never followed up. My inquiries into their lives and their children/pregnancies went ignored and finally that was that. I was done trying. It was evident to me that they couldn't deal with me as I came and while I spent months agonizing over it and carrying guilt over it, I finally stopped.

Because I changed. That happens. The link of land between me and them fell apart abruptly and there wasn't enough left to bridge the chasm anymore. I think that happens in a lot of relationships, but it's a much more gradual process of erosion, or new links are built on new common grounds (I honestly believe that if my baby hadn't died, the relationships would be strengthened by our bond as new mothers; perhaps it would eventually have given way, but Gabe's death was like an earthquake that shook it all up and moved it all around and changed the landscape too dramatically for repair). They couldn't handle it because they refused to simply let me grieve as I needed to grieve. I believe they wanted to help, but what I needed was abiding, not orders and they refused or were incapable of hearing that and honoring that.

It's sad. I still mourn them. But I also shrug more. Not everyone can deal with tragedy. I'm sure I have been that person to someone else.

It is not necessarily a reflection of you or a reflection of your friends. I've seen it here and it was true for me - something like the death of your child will change everything. About a third of your friends and family will be super awesome in ways you can't imagine. A third will neither help nor hurt. A third will disappoint you beyond belief and make things worse for you.

Abiding with someone grieving a loss like this is hard. It's hard to know what to say and what to do, and man, it changed for me every moment. So it's unsurprising some people can't keep up with it. Some people want you to tell them, and you can't. Sometimes people are so wrapped up in themselves and in their roles (as the bestest friend ever, as the comforter, as the advisor) that they can't check that shit at the door (to quote from an early post here) and focus on you and what you need.

"In my mind, I think: What value does something have unless it is given because somebody wants to give it, rather than because they feel compelled to give it? On the other hand, I realize that, if I don't give people some slack, I will lose several friends. Are these friends even worth the effort?"

Man, hammer meet nail. Dead on.

I do think it is worth one effort on your part if you can provide it. It is worth saying at least once 'This is what I need. What I need might change. I'm sorry I'm so needy right now, and I can't thank you enough for trying. All your efforts are appreciated.' Then you have a clean conscience. You know that you did your best.

I will say the marked difference between the group of friends I lost and the group of friends I've become much closer to is that one assumed and one didnt'. It was a pretty marked difference. One group erased all pregnancy tickers and baby pictures from their emails and refused to talk about their kids (and I think resented me for that, though I never asked for that) and the other sat back and said, 'Hey, tell us what you are comfortable with. I know we have a lot of new babies right now, would it be easier for you if we identified those emails with a star or something so you don't have to look if you don't want to?' and also said, 'I'm not going to avoid topics because they might step on toes. If they do, tell me, and I'll try to avoid stepping on toes in future, but it won't do either of us favors to tiptoe around each other forever.'

So maybe I'm extraordinarily lucky or maybe there is some truth to what you are asking, that perhaps the people who are worth it don't need the hand holding.

But I'd guess there are people somewhere in the middle terrified of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing and don't understand that doing and saying nothing are like cutting knives and would be enormously grateful to you for the guidance.

It is a deafening silence, isnt it? The truth is that people fear loss, especially the loss of a child, they fear that somehow it can contaminate their karma, that being close to something so raw will puncture their bubble (and perhaps they are right, but they should be braver, walk where we walk, though it's terrifying, and not a place I wish to be, there are valuable lessons here). What I do is thank the friends who continue to check in, let them know that it means alot, their courage and love. I hope that they pass it on to the others.

SCM,

It sucks to feel like everyone had forgotten, moved on, or is avoiding you.

I'm struggling with this as well, as today marks a month since we learned that Will died. Some of the most comforting phone calls and visits I have received are actually not from my closest friends. It's weird like that, and I think fairly common. More of an aquaintence than a very close friend has provided me with some of the loveliest phone conversations I've had. I never would've have known that had I not lost Will.

I have four very close friends, and they have all provided me comfort and yet all but one has let me down in their own ways. One calls me daily (or I call her). She is my rock, and the one who lost her 6 year old 20 moths ago, so she totally gets it. But she just had a new baby, and seeing her means I see her newborn baby boy. I have dealt with this ok, much to my surprise, but I'm just waiting for it to hit me one day when I'm holding her baby how sad this situation really is.

One calls me once a week at most, but has stopped by for a long visit every Thursday since Will died. She is so comforting when she's here, and just listens to me without a lot of 'you shoulds'. She even brought me a bulk package of kleenex at my door last week. And yet, even then, it doesn't seem enough.

One is going through an infertility struggle right now, and honeslty, has not really been there for me this whole difficult pregnancy. I do feel some resentment, as this pregnancy was after my OWN battle with infertiltiiy. I mostly have to call her. She'll do a favor if I ask, but doesn't really offer. It hurts me terribly. I know she has hurt too, I know what IF feels like...but I still can't help feeling let down by her.

My last best friend is my neighbor. She and I got pregnant at nearly the same time, but she lost her baby at 11 weeks (learned the baby had stopped growing at 9). I tried to be so sensitive in support of her during that loss, since I worried my 'pregnant' presence might hurt her. I have only talked to her a handful of times since losing Will, and most of those times where when I called her. I don't know if my loss brings up too much of her loss, or if my pregnancy still hurts her...but the 'deafening silence' from her is extremely painful. I know she is busy, but it takes little effort to make a phone call.

Anyway, I guess this is the way of it, as others have mentioned. I have tried to be open about my needs, and even sent out an email when we first lost Will and I was on bedrest for 'functional' things we needed. Some people never responded.

Today, I asked a friend to post our news on Facebook, since it seems so many people stay in touch that way. Not so much for people to come out of the woodwork and send cards and stuff, but just so I don't have to retell this story to every aquaintence I run into on the street.

I think your email, Eliza, was a very brave thing to do. I find that there is a double edged sword with asking for help...the pride that gets swallowed in the asking, and the hurt that can happen if no one responds. I probably need to do a similar email to my close friends. But I worry that I will ask and then not here anything back.

I try to let go of my hurt feeilngs and force myself to call people...I think this is a good thing usually, but I don't know that most of my friends understand how important it is that THEY be the ones to pick up the phone first sometimes. It's bad enough to feel that Will is forgotten, but to feel that I am forgotten too is horrible.

And I wish that I could put on my blog that thinking of me (if you know me in RL) does nothing. If you don't reach out to me, then please focus your thoughts elsewhere.

This post hits home. After Calvin's funeral, our phone literally stopped ringing. Shane and I had retreated to the safety of our bedroom with the girls for the entire month of December and not once did our family or friends call to see how we were doing. It not only hurt but it made us angry. We felt like we had contracted leprosy, that people were so afraid of catching "dead baby disease" that they avoided us like the plague. When we confronted those who were close enough to us to confront, over and over we were told "you need your privacy", The presumption that we needed privacy pissed me off. How dare you tell us what we need? Why didn't you ask? Truthfully it's because our tears and pain made our friends and family so uncomfortable with a pain they couldn't fix that they avoided us. I do understand that for the most part, the avoidance wasn't out of lack of feeling for our situation, it was out of helplessness to make us feel better, it was out of not knowing what to say or do for us. My husbands own brother told him that he didn't bring up our son because he was afraid of hurting us or making us cry. The fact that he didn't mention our son hurt us more than anything. It's a sad reality it seems of being babylost that there is a period of isolation afterwards. It's happened to almost every mama I've talked to. I think that's why this community of support has become so important to us, because there are women who are not afraid to talk with us about not only their own dead child, but mine as well. We honour each other the way we wish we were treated in real life for the most part, and it's so incredibly easy to just reach out and click on a link to find another woman hurting that deep hurt that no one understands unless they too have been there. I'm sorry your friends have disappeared, unfortunately this event becomes a catalyst for many of us who "weed" out friends who are less than supportive.

I just came home from a visit with the grief counselor (sigh) and cried when I read all of your responses. As always, it is so reassuring to feel understood. I wish we all lived around the corner from each other so we could sit with a cup of coffee and just feel "normal" in our own little world.

I received a card in the mail today from a friend who moved away last year. She has called me, but I haven't been able to bring myself to call back. The truth is, I am so angry that some people haven't reached out to me... but I can't even bring myself to speak about what I've gone through with those who have. Such a messy and confused web of feelings....

I'm so sorry for those who have lost friends following the loss of their children.

It's happened to me too, but most of the people I've lost are people I wasn't particularly bothered about, so que sera sera. I have been surprised by the support I've got from some people though. It really is true that at times like this you find out who your friends really are. It sucks, when the people you thought would be there bail on you, but sometimes you'll find you have a gem to replace them.

Unfortunately, not as often as you'd hope, though.

Thinking of you scm. I wish I could meet you all for coffee too.

"In my mind, I think: What value does something have unless it is given because somebody wants to give it, rather than because they feel compelled to give it?"

Oh absolutely, I totally agree. However, here's my thing. I remember about 5 years ago, well before I lost the boys, my cousin's 2 year old daughter fell into a jacuzzi and drowned. I remember what it felt like to look at her and think, "I haven't got a clue as to what to say to you. What do I say that doesn't sound incredibly trite and fake and insincere." Now, I'm on the recieving end of those looks. And I know what people are thinking, I've been there. Your child died and your friends don't know what to say to that.

Now, lest you think I am a saint, I will tell you this. I cannot forgive my husband's father for his reaction to the death of the boys. He did nothing. They died a week before tax season and he is a CPA and he couldn't be bothered. Never called, never sent a card, never sent flowers, nothing. My husband and his father had a precarious relationship prior to our loss but we decided to include him in emails, pictures, etc. so as to restart a new relationship with him. He never acknowledged the loss. My sweet, wonderful husband denies caring about it but I know it hurt him deeply and that relationship is gone forever. We won't try again. I will give my friends the benefit of the doubt, I will put myself out there to get hurt but you hurt my husband the way that his father did and you are done. No second chances with me.

Martha, you make a good point for us to remember. I think I was a little more equipped when my best friend's 6 year old died, but admittedly, I'm a counselor and have a subspecilalty with grief (irony at its ugliest). Not to say it was easy for me, but I know I found it easier than some of my other friends. But this same friend has admitted to me she doesn't always know what to say to me and was at complete loss of words with a distant friend of hers who lost her two children in a car crash.

I think, where the hurt comes in, is when they don't even attempt to say something. My dh pointed out yesterday (as I was sharing our discussion on here) that 'sometimes when you say something, you say the wrong thing'. I get that, but really, I'm finding it easier to forgive those who unknowingly put their foot in mouth with sincerity at the root of it than those who say nothing at all.

How I feel depends on the day. I do try to give people the benefit of the doubt and understand the awkwardness, but it gets wearing after all. As I said elsewhere, it's awkward for them for a few minutes. It's repeated over and over for you. Their words may be well intentioned, but that doesn't make them hurt less when they slice into you. And you receive those slices from a hundred well intentioned people.

It leaves you battered and bloody, and they are only mildly worse for the wear. It also makes you more sensitive.

The people who reached out in some way - even through a look or an 'I really don't know what to say' were easier for me to deal with than the people who avoided me. I do think I try hard to be kind and understanding of the other people, but I hit a point where I am sick of being understanding for everyone else and no one making that effort for me.

I get tired of accommodating everyone's insecurities and worries and fears of missteps. Not to be totally self-centered, but shouldn't they be accommodating me? You know, the grieving one?

I think that split is where I lost friends. So be it. I couldn't live to make them more comfortable with my grief. I was too busy grieving.

That's not to say we shouldn't make the effort. A very good friend just went through a miscarriage and even though I went through the same thing on the same timeline, I was gobsmacked and couldn't say much beyond 'Well, fuck. I'm so sorry and I'm so angry for you.' I hated that I didn't have the words. Being back on the other side reminds me of how difficult it is, but reinforces me that there are right ways and wrong ways to behave.

We should be generous (as we can) with the right ways that go badly and shouldn't beat ourselves up over not responding well to the wrong ways of behavior.

Ignoring is wrong. Period. It might be forgiven later, but it is wrong to ignore someone in pain. Especially if you care about them.

What is boils down to is: Make an effort. That's it. I know that no one has magic words that will make everything or anything better. But, step outside your comfort zone for a moment, and just say SOMETHING. ANYTHING. I can forgive inartful words. But, the silence, the avoidance-- that's what cuts to the core. And that's what I can't forgive.

Wow, Martha. I can't believe your father in law. Beyond hurtful. How do some people live with this stuff on their conscience?

Amen!

Yes, not making an effort is so horribly painful. I now know I will never, ever let learnig of someone's loss casually slip through my fingers without recognition. I promised that to myself at least.

My father has not called me since Will died. He did finally send a card (I'm sure via my step-mom) about 2 1/2 weeks later, but that's it. I have no desire to talk to him. I am hurt beyond repair right now.

To some extent, I can cut a leetle slack.

We babylost fall through the cracks, especially when it's loss before birth (ie, IUFD/stillbirth) or loss before real visibility (like, third tri). People don't know whether our babies 'count', whether they are 'real' or something less than. They don't have words for us (like orphan, like widow/er). They didn't know our children as we did. And they often don't know how common it still is to lose a child because we assume our western medicine is the best and saves babies and they live.

So I understand how it can be to respond.

I understand how it leaves not a lot of room to be told 'Please don't say you are sorry. I HATE those words.' as I said. There wasn't much left to say after that. And often people want you to be the same, and we'll never be the same and that's scary for people. It's scary that they don't know us anymore, that they can't empathize with us, that our souls have been whipped around in a blender and we are reconstituted and unrecognizable and they aren't sure if they are going to like this new you. It's frightening to see how quickly someone you know well and think is stable can be reduced to the emotional equivalent of a smoothie.

And it's hard to abide with someone and set aside yourself.

Which is why it makes that rare person so very valuable. Which is why we will all try to be that person for others now.

Because until you live it, you truly can't understand it. Some people will work around that lack of understanding and some won't. I now tend to view those who won't as cowardly, even while acknowledging that I must have been a coward once too.

"What is boils down to is: Make an effort. That's it. I know that no one has magic words that will make everything or anything better. But, step outside your comfort zone for a moment, and just say SOMETHING. ANYTHING. I can forgive inartful words. But, the silence, the avoidance-- that's what cuts to the core. And that's what I can't forgive."

Exactly. That is why I call it "deafening silence" (and in all fairness, I think I read that somewhere). Say something, anything. Even if it's just, "I'm sorry!" which I too, hate to hear but it's better than not acknowledging the dead baby(ies) in the room.