Does anyone have advice on how to handle changes in friendships post-baby loss? Evelyn died 6 months go this month and I guess I should be thankful it didn't happen sooner but I've started to experience people expecting me to be "back to normal" and not understanding why I can't be excited for their new baby or interact with their posts about their children on social media or check in with them after their babies are born inquiring after their new role as mom or check in with them about their pregnancies. Some of the guilt is on my part, where I feel obligated to try and be who I used to be (ie a friend had a baby last week and I thought, "They sent beautiful flowers when Evie died, I'll send a"congrats on your new baby" card because I love them and I want to be supportive," but I stood in front of the section in the store and couldn't do it. So I sent a thoughtful text instead. And I'm so afraid my inability to send a card will be held against me).

The female babies are hardest for me, though any newborn is a challenge and I know I shouldn't feel guilty keeping my distance given the circumstances but I fear losing friends as I've already lost so much already. But maybe I just need to accept that losing friendships after the death of a child is just another unfortunate part of the process, as I just can't be who I was, or do what I might have done and if someone can't understand that, then maybe I'm better off letting that friendship fizzle. I know that I'm not a great friend right now to all who I may have been a great friend to, had Evelyn not died. That's my reality and I own that but I wish people would understand why I am the way I am. And I DO TRY. I remember friend's birthdays and wish them well, and if we're close friends, I do my best to acknowledge their children's birthdays too. I have done my utmost to keep key relationships going and I have pretty much figured out who my closest friends are now in this new phase and do my best to focus on maintaining those but it's just not possible for me to be there for all -- even when going through all the years of infertility, I'd wish everyone who had a baby congratulations on social media and pretty much push my own pain down for their benefit (attend baby showers, send baby gifts, talk about their pregnancies and their children) but I've had to mostly unfollow all pregnant friends or friends with newborns and severely limit my time online because it just causes me so much emotional pain.

I know this is part of it, the changing landscape of life after the death of one's child but it's shitty and makes me feel even shittier than I already do.

Melissa,

So very sorry.

I've realized our getting back into others realities is a progression of sorts. The best thing you can do, I think, is to be kind to yourself, to the point of being absolutely selfish, so when things start to hurt, you recognize it and pull back. You don't go to the baby shower. You stay home on holidays. You delete Facebook. You avoid triggers because you have so many you can't control, you control the ones you can. Without apology. Because eventually, you'll want to do more, and then you will. Don't you always know when you've pushed it too far? I remember trying to have lunch 6 months out with a friend who had a baby at the same time. When she complained about her baby teething, and said her nipples hurt, I knew I had pushed myself too soon to do something as simple as meet her for lunch.

Buying baby cards is the worst. I distinctly remember turning away and not. Buying an ugly one just because. And one time I saw a "New mother support" card to lend kind words to someone struggling with the woes of having an actual new baby to take care of. I took the whole stack and buried them in the back so nobody would see them. One time I parked in the "expectant mother" parking at the mall, because if a pregnant woman got special treatment, so should a grieving one.

Please do what you need to do without apology. My experience is that eventually it gets a bit easier to hold it together and do the social norms. But I'm still not there, and don't think I'll ever be. Even with my baby loss friends who are now having rainbows, it's still so hard.

I have lost friends, too. I gladly dropped the ones who didn't try, but it hurt. Some just fizzled over time, and couldn't find each other again. I have gained some new ones, though, and some acquaintances became some of my new best friends. I feel like my friendships now are more enlightened, more deep, more reflective of my true self.

It's all just such a process, and it is work on top of work. All of this is work. Survival. Processing. Grief work. Physically getting up out of bed and living. Friendships shouldn't make more work for you. Do what your heart allows without judging it, and know things will not always stay this way.

I wanted to add, I did not and could not cling to the friendships of those who had babies. The one I mentioned I went to lunch with, I actually never saw again.

Hi Melissa,

I'm so sorry you're feeling disconnected from all of your friends. It sucks... that we can lose most of our friends in addition to our precious children. I'm just so sorry.

I can relate to so much of what you've said... I too have lost most of my friends pre-loss. For me, I decided early on I'd just feel all of my feelings and do as I pleased to get through this rough time, take the path of least resistance with everything in my life, including friendships, etc. for at least a year. Now, it's been almost two years, and I'm kind of still doing this, which I might need to address, but this is beside the point... In essence, I decided to be extremely gentle with myself, because one of the worst fucking things in the world had just happened, so I think I deserved some grace. In my mind potentially losing a friend was a far better alternative to attending a baby shower, and I get that I could be different from some in this respect, but I knew this is how I felt, and I owned it, and I kind of shouted from the rooftops, "Do not invite me to your fracking baby shower!!!" so people could know what to expect from me and then just deal with it.

How did this approach work for me? Good, overall. I think I've managed to avoid a lot of painful situations that would have only contributed to my suffering. But yes, now, I can count my pre-loss friends on one hand. In one way, it's sad, because, again, more losses, but in another way, I don't really care. By being my authentic self in my grief, I've held onto only the friends who can accept me for me, right were I am, and these are the only friends I want anyway, I've discovered. And then I've made some friends with similar experiences who have filled in the gaps. And I'm finding my life is plenty full in the friendship department, even though of course I wish I never would have met any of these new friends. Though I tell myself that had Matthew lived, my friend group might have changed anyway... I think of some of my new friends as Matthew's peers' parents... Just not the way I wanted it to be, obviously.

I don't know if this is at all helpful, or what you wanted to hear. But I have found it helpful to just be true to myself and let some of them go, and I can't say I miss them. It may sound callous towards these old friends, and in some ways I suppose it is, but I just can't care about them the way I used to in the midst of my pain, especially when I feel like they totally sucked anyway...

I've also thought a lot about how our world these days is so friend-obsessed with social media. Not saying you are this way, but I think subconsciously there's more of an emphasis on the number of friends we have. How could there not be with "friend counts" and "follower counts" and regular broadcasting of photos of everyone's past weekend get togethers? I've let go of all of this, partially by giving up Facebook, and I've found it immensely helpful. I'm sticking to the old saying - If I die with only one or two true, good friends (especially after what I've been through), I'll consider myself lucky, at least in the friendship area. (Obviously I we were all wayyyyy screwed over in other ways...)

Sending you huge hugs.

Melissa,
Thank you for this very honest post. You are certainly not alone in feeling how you do. I am 8 months out from losing a much wanted baby girl (termination for fatal fetal anomalies at 18 weeks), and maintinaing friendships has proved to be one of the very hardest parts of this awful journey. Back in October, I just couldn't take any more social media and left it all. I found this helpful, but also isolating. I have many pregnant (and actively trying to conceive) friends, pregnant co-workers, and became an aunt to my first nephew (the first grandchild on my side) just 1 month before our baby was due. I feel so surrounded by pregnancy and babies and try so hard to avoid it all. But that in itself is getting tiring and starting to wear me down. I wish there was a button I could push to turn off the emotions during difficult interactions! If I had that, I think I could get by a heck of a lot easier in this new lonely life of mine.

Elaina -- being selfish for me is very hard as I am a people pleaser. I always have been. I can't stand when people are upset at me (especially if I can't figure out why) and have always tried to stay on good terms with...well, everyone. I don't like to stir the pot. So to let people go when they've disappointed or hurt me, though it sounds logical, is incredibly hard. I know I need to do it but it's so stressful for me. I know that I should believe that I'm worth more than they're giving, that if the shoe were on the other foot, I'd do more, try more, be there more...but is that just because I know what someone in our situation needs because I'm living it, or because it's just my nature? I don't know. But I get what you're saying and you're right, I need to care less about what others may think about how I'm choosing to cope and grieve and get by and just do what I need to do, for me. I wish I could delete Facebook all together but I live across the country from most of our family and friends so if I were to remove myself completely, as I know I should and really want to do, I'd feel even more isolated than I already do. I only have one good friend where I live and she has a new baby (we were pregnant at the same time) but because of how supportive and wonderful she and her family have been, it's okay. I love her two girls and though at first it was hard, it's comforting now in a way because when my arms are aching for my own daughter, I hold hers and we sit together and cry because we know it should be different, we know that there should be a baby in each of our arms. She has become one of my very closest friends since Evelyn's passing and I am so grateful for her compassion, understanding and care. I just wish some of my other friends could take a note from her... Thank you for taking the time to respond so thoughtfully, sending you hugs.

Matthew's Mom -- It really does suck, so so much. Losing friendships on top of one's child just shouldn't happen...if only. I wouldn't say that I've lost most of my friends but I've definitely felt distanced from several (some, my own doing but most, theirs). I've even posted articles online on how to best support a loved one through the death of their child and even still, the support is lacking. I'd say I have 5 friendships that are as strong if not stronger than they've ever been. The rest...some try really hard but aren't consistent, some try but not often, some disappeared for several months only to resurface without apology or explanation, and some I haven't heard from since Evelyn's passing. One main issue is that so many of my friends have young children, several new babies, so their lives have changed too and they can't or don't want to be there for me when they're struggling in their own way to find their footing (though for very opposite reasons: they are struggling to be new moms to a living child and I'm struggling to be a new mom to a deceased one). I understand that relating to me is hard but it's frustrating that they don't see how my relating to THEM is just as difficult, if not more so, because I'm carrying around grief and sorrow and pain and devastation on top of feeling like I can't relate to their baby-full life when my is so baby-less. We have been trying to grow our family for 9 years now -- Evelyn was conceived on our 4th and final IVF so it has been a long journey to parenthood...only to be in this place. I've asked friends for support for years upon years (I also underwent open heart surgery in 2009) so I feel, quite often, that I have "overstayed my welcome" in terms of needing support and help getting through life's challenges. But isn't that what friends do? Help each other through and not just when it's convenient or until they're tired of it? The whole thing is just so very sad to me. As I said in my reply to Elaina, as much as I wish I could completely remove myself from social media as that is really what I need to do to protect myself and guard my heart, I live across the country from the vast majority of our friends and family and it is one of the only ways I can connect with people. The isolation already feels so heavy that I cannot imagine cutting myself off completely...I'd likely never see anyone or hear from anyone but maybe a small handful. But I absolutely have cut back on my time online -- I take breaks where I'm off for a week or two and I've mostly unfollowed those with newborns or those who are currently pregnant. And the number is high for both. After 9 years of infertility, I'm somewhat used to blocking out pregnancies but the newborns...those are just too much to bear. Thank you for taking the time to reply to my post, I truly appreciate it and know that I'm thinking of you, too.

Amy -- oh if only there was such a button!! I'm going to just copy and paste what I said above about cutting out social media: "as much as I wish I could completely remove myself from social media as that is really what I need to do to protect myself and guard my heart, I live across the country from the vast majority of our friends and family and it is one of the only ways I can connect with people. The isolation already feels so heavy that I cannot imagine cutting myself off completely...I'd likely never see anyone or hear from anyone but maybe a small handful. But I absolutely have cut back on my time online -- I take breaks where I'm off for a week or two and I've mostly unfollowed those with newborns or those who are currently pregnant. And the number is high for both. After 9 years of infertility, I'm somewhat used to blocking out pregnancies but the newborns...those are just too much to bear." I feel guilty unfollowing those with newborns or pregnancies as Evelyn's passing has nothing to do with them, nor it is anyone's fault but scrolling through and seeing all of those babies who are not her and never will be and seeing those growing bellies which will likely never be my experience ever again haunts me in new ways post-Evelyn's death. There is just nothing that prepares us for the deaths of our children, nothing. I feel as though I am doing the best I can considering and just wish people had more compassion and awareness about how much work this all is...how much work it is to just get up and keep going each morning, let alone deal with maintaining relationships which may or may not "make it". I can't tell you how often I've felt as though I was being asked to defend my grief. We just want to be seen and heard and understood and it's just so disappointing/frustrating/sad that it's seemingly so elusive. Sending you hugs and holding your hand from afar... I just so wish we could all get together in "real life" and be there for one another in person.

Melissa,

I totally get that, every word you've said. I'm a people-pleaser through & through; complete with being a middle-child. Letting this go was not natural, but, I was determined to let this loss change me somehow for the positive. It felt like every part of me was (perceived) as negatively changing...less able to care about others lives, less spiritual, less brave, more broken...but people-pleasing was one thing I was not interested in continuing. I didn't want to do & say the nice things because I knew I would end up resentful, and be selling myself short in order to be pleasant. So I sort of let her change my personality in this way, because it needed to be changed. But that's me...and I don't live away from everyone. I can only imagine how hard it is to feel the love & concern from those people who are away, unless they are actively showing you & telling you. Who knows how much grace we bestow on others, knowing we'd not respond perfectly had this happened to someone else and not us. For me, I began to let the chips fall where they may. I also had one person in my life who had a baby same time as me, and she was one of my most cherished friends. Because of her thoughtfulness and sensitivity, I wanted to plug into her life eventually. I learned I was not afraid of babies. I was afraid of unsafe places and unsafe people. I was afraid of those who could not go to my dark place, and I'm happier now that I've let them go, but it was another form of pain at the time. I am so sorry you are geographically distanced from friends and family.

Sorry to be replying so much on this, but I wanted to say I just read about the other struggles you have referenced above in a reply to someone else, and I am so sorry about this long and painful road you've been on. It is so hard to desperately need people, and yet be disappointed in them. It adds pain on top of pain. I'm so sorry.

Melissa- I have been thinking a lot about the same things. I have a few friends due in March, and have attended one baby shower, and skipped the other. There is another one this weekend that I plan to attend (she is my very best friend), but I don't want to. i have a much harder time with baby boy showers since we lost a boy too (the one I skipped was for a baby boy, and the one this weekend they don't know the sex yet).

I understand your desire to stay connected on social media, but I also cut this out almost completely. I actually logged into facebook the other day to check my support group for families whose babies died from the same condition as mine, and stumbled onto a posting in my news feed of an acquaintances two little boys (one is 5 months, the other 2 and a half and "life is good!" as she posted... I'll note that our two-and-a-half year olds were born eight days apart, and my second baby boy was due a week before hers was born. So this might be particularly painful). But I think facebook is full of people (maybe unintentionally) bragging about their good fortune.

Most of my friends disappeared. I got a few follow-ups from a few people, but most people sent one "I'm sorry for your loss" email, and that was literally it. One of my "best friends" was not being particularly helpful, so I actually reached out (very nicely) and asked her to visit. She completely ignored me. I also emailed her happy birthday note a few months later... again, ignored me. She just reached out and asked if I wanted a visitor soon. No mention of anything. I think she is hoping I'm "better" now and we can just get back to normal. Truth is, I have adjusted to life without her and while maybe we can have a drink and catch up at some point, her being one of my best friends is over.

I'm angry at so many of these people, and immensely frustrated because they could probably care less. After all, being away from me is probably somewhat of a relief. When I spoke to my friends post-loss, many of them defended everyone else's insensitivities, and would gently offer that I should see a therapist (which I was and am). I finally told one of my friends that what I want is for someone to visit, someone to listen to me. Therapy is great but it's also a way for them to get out of their friendship duties by making me pay someone else to do the not fun stuff.

Sorry for the rant... but as you can tell, I am pretty angry at many people myself. The fact is, I KNOW I would have been better at this than they are. I am not sure how I am going to react when my best friend has her baby this month, but I imagine I will hide my sadness at the fact that my baby still and will never be here. She is one the only friends I have left, and while her help is limited (she is pretty unempathetic) she really has been trying her best, and I give her credit for that (we have also know each other since we were 6 months old so I have the benefit of understanding her better than most).

The way I handle this is by embracing the "new me": rougher, less caring about others' comfort level, and more inclined to say what I want and less sensitive to others' reactions. All in all, I don't know that this is a bad thing. I was a little bit of a pushover and overly agreeable before. Trying to gain some control over this situation can be helpful... for me that meant to stop reaching out to people who wouldn't give me what I wanted in return, and to stop expecting people to do things they weren't inclined to do. It is taking a while, but slowly I feel like I am getting some control back over my friendship situation. Even if that means having fewer "friends" than I did before (but maybe they weren't really friends after all... and I just thought they were).

Elaina, thank you, it has most definitely been a journey that has challenged us beyond anything we could have imagined while completely changing the landscape of our lives, slowly and progressively, over the course of those 9 yrs. 2008 seems so long ago and yet I can remember the details of those first 10 disappointing months and the subsequent diagnosis like it was just last week. I've lost friends over the years due to my infertility struggles and the failed treatments, because it's been a very long road and we haven't felt like we could relate to our friend's lives for quite some time, even pre-loss. When I had a miscarriage in 2011, people just up and left. They didn't know what to say so they just didn't even try. These are the same people who had exited stage left during the early infertility years and then reappeared when I got pregnant, only to disappear again when we lost that pregnancy. I'd just had open heart surgery in 2009 and then a pacemaker implanted in 2010 so it felt very much like I'd worn out my welcome in the support department. So I guess it stings all the more that even after a tragedy such as the death of our child, people still decide our struggles and pain are too much to bear. "I'm so sorry that our tragedy has made life so difficult for you," is a response I wish I could say to people. I think it, my husband and I talk about it, but we don't allow ourselves to be that brutally honest...but who knows, maybe one day I'll just blurt it out. Thank you again for your thoughtful replies, Elaina.

Abby -- Oh I feel you. I see you and your seething pain. The anger is so real and so raw. Rage is likely a better descriptor. The anger and pain and sorrow and unfairness of it all combined. The permanence of our situations. I wish there was a way to go back in time and see if the outcome would be the same or somehow different, if given another chance. But time doesn't go in that direction.

There's a saying that goes something like, if people treat you like they don't care, believe them. And I guess that's what's happening here: some people are showing me they can't care to the degree that I need them to so I need to not assume it'll change and just let them go. And you're right, the real, true friends will stay and those are the ones we need to focus on. The people who can't be who we need them to be maybe aren't worth the fight. I don't have much fight in me right now to waste on those who cannot accept me for who I am, post Evelyn's death. If someone cannot embrace me for who I am, as I am, and meet me where I am, then perhaps they're showing me their true colors and I need to pay closer attention. I'm so tired of the empty platitudes: "Everything happens for a reason," {No. It. Doesn't.} "Life just isn't fair," {Yep, already figured that one out.} "You're still young, you can have more children," {I'm 33, and I've spent 9 of the last 10 years trying to have my first child who just died so who are you to be saying that to me? And also, I don't want some hypothetical child down the line, I want my Evelyn back.} "God doesn't give us more than we can handle," {Really? Just don't.}, "God must have needed another angel in heaven." {Shut up. Seriously, don't say that to me. She belongs HERE with us.} So I get your rage. And it's just so damn shitty and I'm sorry for our shared sorrow and anger and pain. And you don't need to be sorry for venting, I understand. I just wish I could reach through my computer and give you a hug because hugs matter, don't they? When there are just no words so you hug it out instead. {{hug}}

Part of this, losing friends, is a normal part of life. It hurts more when the reason for the friendship fading is the death of your child. That makes everything hurt more, makes it all sharper and deeper and more tragic. Not all friendships are forever. Not all of them need to be. People come and go all through our lives. I've drifted in and out of many peoples lives, too. There is a friend who helped me and was so close when I was getting a divorce. A friend who I saw through the first two years of her childloss and then we drifted apart. Party friends, single friends, beach friends, parents of my children's friends. And, yes, new mother friends and babyloss friends.

I am not trying to preach here. Friendships ending often hurts. We are very lucky if we have a few friends for most of our life. But the ones who come and go help us and teach us and give us love, too. Losing friends because you can't deal with their children, with the pain of their happiness and the sheer normality of their lives, really, really hurts. But don't be too harsh on yourself or on your old friends. This too is a part of life, magnified a 1000x because the baby died.

I HATE when people say God only gives you what you can handle, obviously not, considering the amount of children killed by their own parents, because they couldn't handle them, oh and then there's the children in third world countries having babies after being raped, but they must be able to handle that? But as they say, ignorance is bliss.
Jill A., your comment makes so much sense. It's never been more evident then now that everyone has their own lives. Most around me involve children and babies, and our addition was going to be the start of our own life as a family, I think back to when I first starting dating my now fiancé almost 10 years ago, and without me really realising, I was the one that actually ditched my school friends to hang out with him. Most of our friends since have been couples we have met through our work throughout the years.
When I was pregnant we started up a few old friendships with couples based on us both being due around the same time, then our baby died and every one else's lived and instantly friendships were lost, because it is what it is and it sucks hard.
Society has this thing with time, every second person says to me "it's just time", and I let it go because they have no actual idea that we have to watch every one else's children grow up knowing dam well what we and our babies are missing out on.
Much love to everyone.

Jill A -- You're absolutely not preaching, you're speaking from experience and I respect and appreciate your viewpoint and input. As Ella said, you're so right, the world doesn't stop for anyone and it is reality that people go on with their lives while we are left to grapple with an unfathomable loss. It is what it is. I guess for me personally, I am tired of feeling the otherness I have felt for one reason or another for nearly a decade. All of our years of infertility have left us feeling like we don't fit in with our peers, as they go on to have children while our attempts to build our family are repeatedly unsuccessful. I also had open heart surgery at age 25 and that was too real for some people to handle so they just didn't. So when Evelyn died, I knew that I'd lose friends, because it's been happening for lesser reasons for years (and also, my parents had a full term stillborn, my sister Amanda, before I was born and they "warned" me that losing friends, even ones we didn't expect to lose, would likely happen, because that was their experience). But I guess I was just hoping it wouldn't happen, as naive as that may sound. Because who wants to lose friends, especially when you feel as though your world is crumbling down around you? I am, however, extremely grateful for the handful of friends who are trying so hard to be there for us while at the same time living their own lives and who have, for the most part, done their utmost to let us know they're not going anywhere. And they're the same ones who have proved they are true to their word, time and again, thru the years of infertility, through the heart surgery, and so I believe them when they say they're not leaving. And I am thankful. Thank you for your reply, Jill -- it's up to me to work on not being so hard on myself and just letting go of those who cannot give what I need. None of this is anyone's fault, it just is what it is.

Ella -- Evelyn was to be the beginning of our family too and she is, but just not in the way we had hoped, dreamed or planned. Our society is indeed time based, isn't it? There is so much pressure to do things on some sort of schedule -- by this age, you must be doing this, by that age, it's time for this to be happening. You must get a job, get married or settle down with a partner, and then have your family, all on other people's timetables. So I guess it shouldn't be surprising that people and society as a whole have a predetermined idea of when it's time to move forward and time to be done grieving...but we know differently. Grief isn't linear, and there is no finish line. One of my favorite sayings right now is that grief lasts as long as love does: forever. We grieve deeply because we first loved deeply. And we continue to mourn and grieve because we continue to love our babies who are no longer here. Perhaps over time, the grief will soften and lose it's sharpest edges and I do hope that it does but for now, the pain is just so acute and the fear of not knowing what comes next and how will life unfold now in this new reality is scary. Sending hugs to you and to everyone -- your children are in my heart.

You guys are all so wonderful. I'm really glad to have this community here because you say EXACTLY what I think and feel, so much of the time.

"I'm so sorry that our tragedy has made life so difficult for you." YES. YES.

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH OTHER PEOPLE? Also, FYI to them, it would be much easier to get closer to normal and even handle their pregnancies if they'd just been present and the least bit sympathetic.

JM -- "It would be much easier to get closer to normal and even handle their pregnancies if they'd just been present and the least bit sympathetic." Yes to this. A big, resounding yes. One of my dearest friends lives next door and she gave birth to her 2nd daughter a month after our daughter died. It was challenging at first but over time, we made it through and we are as close as ever, if not more so -- because she and her family chose to be there for us. They let us lead as far as how much we wanted to be around their children. They were present, fully present, and have allowed us to grieve as we see fit, holding our hands all the way, loving us as we are and accepting us for who we are now with open arms and hearts. And guess what? Being around their children isn't difficult any more. In fact, holding their baby brings us comfort and peace, especially when our arms are feeling empty and aching. And three of my other close friends all had babies following Evie's passing and each of them have tried their utmost to be there for us as much as they can be given the distance and how their own lives have changed. Just being willing to meet us where we are, and letting us set the pace is so huge. I wish some of my other friends knew that I don't want them to disappear just because they remind us of what we've lost...I just need space and time and LOVE and compassion to eventually get to the place where we can build upon our friendship again. It may not look like it used to but guess what? My LIFE doesn't look like it used to so who are they to assume that their relationship with me would escape that same transformation? I wish people would also realize that this has nothing to do with them and everything to do with us, so maybe, just maybe, it's okay for us to be the ones to determine how we move forward. Thanks for your reply, JM.

Thanks for your reply, Melissa. <3 I'm glad I've had a few people like that, too. And ditto about it not being difficult to be around their kids. My new normal was their new normal, they didn't reject me because of what happened. But some other people? Ugh.