Hello. I've typed and retyped so many messages to Glow before deleting them and continuing to lurk in the background. So before I start, I want to say thank you all for being the lifeline I needed, the club that no one wants to belong to and mostly one of the main reasons I can breathe most days.

Our planned for, prayed for, very much loved and anticipated firstborn daughter Arlie was stillborn on June 4th due to a "cord accident" at 39 weeks. The shit show that is my life continues on while I try to reconcile the medical aspect, which is basically diagnosis by exclusion considering everything keeps coming back "normal"... the emotional aspect which we all know is unexplainable... the crisis of faith, identity, future, shall I continue. While it's hard to be awake when life is actually your worst nightmare, my husband and I are holding on and pushing through and making Arlie a part of our lives in every way we know how. Again, thank you all for insight and encouragement to be able to do just that.

Now to my question. How do you know when you are out of grace? Specifically, when it comes to relationships with those you loved and trusted most prior to the day your life derailed? My very best friend of over 20 years, college roommate, bridesmaid, hostess of my baby shower has let me down. The day after we lost our daughter, she brought us a flower. She texted me, maybe 3 times over the next 4 weeks. I finally met with her only to have some of the most cliched, pain wrenching comments thrown my way. I extended grace. I didn't set expectations. Mostly, I ignored it because I was literally trying to survive. Now we are coming up for air and trying to be human but I'm getting nothing from her. We finally met again and she didn't even act like my baby died, didn't even say her name... the only comment I received was that "one good thing that came out of this is that I seem more chill"... as if losing my baby helped my type A, it didn't by the way, I'm just too depressed to care. I know this is a lot of rambling, I'm just hurt and tired and honestly, angry that I've wasted time and energy and posted on Glow about her instead of my daughter. So, when do you know if you are out of grace or just being sensitive? I don't want to look back and feel that I was the cause of letting relationships fall but I also don't want to hold on to something toxic... at this point I believe it may be a gift from Arlie to call it what it is and move on.

Much love to all.

Arlie's mama--wow that's awful, I'm so sorry your friend hasn't been there for you during this awful, shocking time. I think many of us have been through this compounded loss--friendships dying, like our babies. I know I did. I'm three years out from losing my daughter and some people who I thought were friend, good friends, have simply fallen off of the face of the planet. It sometimes still stings a little because I thought we were close but I guess it's more a reflection on them than anything: now I know that they're incapable of compassion, of sitting with me in sadness the way they did when I was happy. It's their shortcoming, I gave them opportunities and they didn't rise to them. So the only thing left is getting to the point where you accept that they're not your friend, or not that kind of friend, and then, when your fog lifts a little, when you aren't in the early months and you can function (and two months, I didn't,I mean I showered and fed myself but barely) then you can decide if you want to pursue a different friendship with them. For me, I couldn't. I've forgiven them, mostly, but we can never be close again. I'm sorry your Arlie isn't here with you. I will say this though: some friends, even acquaintances in some cases have become really close friends since my daughter died. They were there for us, they held our hand, they didn't say awful things, these new friends or newly close friends showed compassion and kindness and I'm so grateful to them--I hope hear kinds of people come your way. It doesn't erase the loss of a close friend, just like having a rainbow doesn't erase your baby who died, but it eases your heart a little.

Alrliesmama I am so sorry for the loss of your precious girl. And for the reaction of your friend. My friend of 20 years and bridesmaid at my wedding was hopeless. She actually said she didn't want to catch up with after my loss because she felt uncomfortable and like she was walking on eggshells. I cut her loose. Losing Shelby was the hardest experience of my life. It changed me. And if my closest friend can't accept that we can't be friends. I wasn't prepared for losing her too but I knew it was a reaction I couldn't overlook and continue the friendship.

I guess you have two choices...... tell your friend how you feel and hope you can move forward or cut your losses and move forward without her.

I'm so sorry your Arlie is gone. x

AB, I'm so sorry for the loss of your daughter and also dissolved relationships. I do agree, we have already had new people enter our lives that have been exactly what we need. Reading back on old posts, it seems this is a common element of the loss journey and so very unfortunate. We all deserve a free pass from life but since we can't have it, I'm so thankful for this community of support.

Shelby's mom, I'm so sorry for the loss of your sweet Shelby. I hate that we are meeting this way but I'm very appreciative of your response. I think what I needed out of this was to gain "permission" to move on from those with common experiences and that's exactly what I received. I will do my best but I also will be guilt free if this particular friendship ends in the here and now.

Thank you both for the love and support.

In so many ways this reminds me of my story. My best friend of 20 years also let me down so terribly, we don't speak anymore. I honestly am embarrassed to say how much I thought about her, obsessed about when I would see her and what I would say. The worst things were happening in my life, but aside from that I had the secondary pain of losing a relationship that had been a lifeline (or so I thought). She was pregnant too and had her baby while I was 7 months pregnant with my terminally ill one. She texts me a picture of her when she came, celebrated normally and without sensitivity, told me about her mundane problems and then when I said I thought it was insensitive she said she wasn't going to feel bad for what her family was going through (minor) just because my family was going through something. Followed up by "at least you get to meet her before she dies."
I can't even.
I tried for a bit, had those awkward and emotionally charged attempts at meeting that you describe. It seemed like she did feel emotion, but couldn't articulate, and we never found each other again. We just couldn't connect and maybe I just couldn't forgive.
I'm not sure what I expected. I do know I had a friend who lost a baby before I was ever a mother and I wonder what I was like to her. I know I would be better now, times a million.
There's a bit of us being hard on others because we want the pain to stop and they can't do it.
And then there are some people who just try harder and hurt less and that's where your heart needs to rest right now.
I know your friend hurt you terribly. Try to be your own best friend right now and stay away from her.

I hope you don't mind my advice to stay away and cut ties. I am protective of loss moms needing to get the right kind of support (the kind that doesn't hurt you worse). I second what the others said... acquaintances that step up are gold and such a welcomed surprise. You matter. I also love the name Arlie, and I am so very sorry for your loss.

Elaina, thank you so much for sharing your story and I absolutely encourage any advice. I'm so sorry for the loss of your daughter and that you had to deal with this friend drama as well. I often consider my reactions to loss moms in the past, before I knew better... one I've actually reached out to and apologized for not being more, she graciously accepted and told me she had to do the same thing to her cousin that lost a baby previous to hers. It's a sad and complex world to live in after losing a child... being more sensitive and aware is the only positive I see at this moment. As far as my friend goes, my heart is on board with moving on. The more I analyze, the sadder I become and I feel there are things I will never be able to forgive as well. Thank you again, every response I receive is the gold you mentioned.

Arlie's mama,

What can I say, except I am heartbroken for and with you, and I do understand your pain. You are so near to the shock of your life. I am so sorry for the grief tsunami you are experiencing right now. I'm having to make myself relax my face as I write this - I can feel a scrunched-up, furrowed-brow, concerned look staring at my computer as I type. Your words just hit so close to home for me. I know your road all too well, and my gosh is it brutal. You are spot-on by calling it what it is, a shit-show. I understand how hard it is to be awake, and I totally agree. Never have I had darker thoughts than when I began really, really absorbing the fact that I will have to live the rest of my life without my child... In those moments, it's hard to wish for a long life.

Yes, keep integrating Arlie into your life however you can. In my experience, that's the only way I can function or feel like I really indeed am the person who also carried my child and knew and loved her. (By the way, our stories are similar. My daughter also died of a cord accident. I was 41 weeks, already in labor, when I got the news. She had no genetic problems, just horrible, horrible luck.)

The cliche, pain-wrenching comments you mention... yes. I'm afraid we all know them all too well, and unfortunately they keep coming. My daughter died almost 15 months ago, and I still handle those unwelcome comments almost daily. This is why I spend a LOT of time alone now. As far as your friend, shame on her for saying it's good that you're more chill now. There is really nothing good about losing Arlie at 39 weeks... It is horrifically sad, plain and simple. Amen to "I'm just too depressed to care." I'm type A as well and definitely connect with that sentence in a major way.

Regardless of what happens with this friendship, I do not look at it like you caused it to fail. The circumstances surrounding it are just insurmountably difficult. I know that if you had a choice, you'd rather Arlie be here and for this friendship to be intact, too. Unfortunately you didn't get that choice.

Regarding friendships in general - and at the risk of sounding dangerously introverted - I am my own best friend. I have to be. I only feel completely at ease anymore when I am alone, especially when I'm writing. I miss having so many friends like I used to. I miss my high school and college friends, who don't live where I do now so they haven't really seen the grief and aftermath as close-up as my local friends have. I miss the texts, emails, phone calls, all nonchalant and casual and effortless. The vast majority of my friends have living children, many with two now. I am the only person even remotely in these shoes. The differences in our lives are simply too great for me to try to overcome. I honestly don't even know how. For now, most of my older friendships are on hold. I'd like to think that some way, some day, those friendships will come back to life - although they will need to acknowledge that my grieving heart never quite will. It can be hard for me to imagine being very close with people who do not know this pain. I feel like I'm from another planet and they cannot, will not, understand the language I speak now, the culture I live in, etc. Likewise, I cannot relate to going to the hospital in labor and leaving with my child. I can only daydream, and even that is heart-wrenching and cruel.

I'm sorry that you are dealing with loss on top of loss. That's one of the shittiest parts of this grief - that it's not contained, considering losing your precious daughter should obviously be enough for all time. I've lost closeness with most of my friends, and I'm stepping away from a job that I adored for years. I have to hope that there's something worth living for in the future, unlikely as it may seem. This community at Glow, and other loss moms anywhere, are my lifelines. I welcome you here with open arms and look forward to hearing more about Arlie, as well as your grief and all the swirling thoughts that surround each moment. I'm sorry you're here, and I'm glad you're here, both. Hugs... xoxo

Cameron,
I'm so very sorry we find ourselves here, I wish your sweet daughter were with you right now. I feel like you are speaking my language! I have always considered myself as a social being, maybe not a butterfly but at least a moth... however, in my new shoes being an introvert sounds like the safest and most comfortable place of all. In the early weeks I didn't even want to walk my dog because it was dreadful imagining mundane conversations with all my well meaning neighbors. Even now, I'm still included in group chats with old friends and while they try to understand and empathize, it's mostly just continual drama and conversations about fashion, celebrities and other insignificant/annoying life happenings. I'm starting back to work tomorrow and truly worried I may be making the same move as you soon... I really enjoy my job but the investment in my life may be a little too much. It's not contained, not even a little. But yes, I also have to keep hoping there is something worth living for, that's the only route at this point. I know that having my new soul sisters at glow is a vital element of holding onto that hope. Thank you for your truth, even through the furrowed brow. We will get to a less sad place one day.