I'm reflecting a lot today. I got a set of proofs from my photographer friend who is putting together Gabriel's pictures. I shared one of the most exciting on my blog - his footprints, with his name and birthdate. I was so pleased by that last night; and I still am.

But in a way, it's so very hollow. My friend G had her baby 2 weeks ago. He was due the day after Gabe. She's busy fretting over weight gain and dirty diapers and umbilical stumps. Most of my other friends have kids or are trying to have kids right now. A bunch have young babies, so naturally there is a great deal of baby talk. Just as there was a great deal of pregnancy talk. They are very kind and very sensitive to me, and I don't want them to censor that. I care about them and their kids - I want to know about W standing on his legs, and about P sleeping through the night and I want to know about S not gaining they way they think she should.

But sometimes it's too much. And when it gets up there, I can't really help or participate. I'm a shadow mom to a shadow baby. I don't know what it's like to have to watch your baby struggle with constipation or get frustrated at the breast or be on day 6 of colic-watch. I can't offer help or advice or anything but sympathy (just like they can't advise me on how to deal with the notion that losing Gabriel will allow us to have whatever future child, or how best to incorporate our dead son into our holiday traditions without freaking out our extended family or being morbid). I can't advise on the best swaddle wrap, and they can't advise on how to fill my empty arms and still-broken (always broken) heart.

But likewise, I'm beyond the childless friends. I don't want to hang out and drink or go do this thing and no it sounds fun, but we're still planning on trying for kids soon and I might be pregnant so I can't commit to that trip right now. . . and even the friends who are trying to conceive. . . I'm beyond the spontaneity and innocence and belief it will work out somehow. I don't need to pick names or look at cute nurseries (I have all the furniture sitting in pieces in our catch-all room already, along with a cloth diaper supply and a stroller and a car seat we won't be able to use soon and a big box full of clothes gathering dust).

I just feel so outside of my old life. So in between, neither one thing or another. Am I alone in that? How do you express that or bridge the gaps that exist between you and your friends or family that didn't use to exist 'before'?

I feel like this too. Losing your first child seems to leave us stranded in no-mans land. Not childless and care-free but also not bound to a baby that demands our time and attention. All the things I used to love doing and imagined I would miss once having a baby now feels empty and just draw attention to the fact I don't have a baby. Hours sitting on our deck and reading papers, going to movies and shows, and the ability to leave the house whenever I feel like it.

I also don't feel like I can make plans because of this 'hopefully we'll be pregnant' thing. And if/when we are, I'll be so anxious I can't imagine wanting to be far from our doctors.

No advice really - just a sameness.

Maddie x

No that helps. Sameness helps me a lot. I think one of the harder aspects of babyloss for me is how isolating it is. It's hard to be on the outside looking in. Finding some company out here makes the cold a little less intense.

When this first happened I kept reading 'grief is lonely' but didn't really get it. I had people around me. But now I realise it's possible to feel lonely with people around. I don't like being in groups because they just chat and carry on and it just reinforces to me how alone I am in this. It really hit home when one of my friends (who's been supportive btw) who was at the funeral uploaded some photos of her out and having fun a couple of days later to facebook. I know my friends are sad that Matilda isn't here and sad for me but it really drove home that after the funeral it's me, my DH, and immediate family that are really left living this. Whereas for most other people who know us, once the funeral was over, it was in the past for them.

Maddie x

Sameness here, too. You say it so well. So true, so true.

In person I rarely let on how I feel, but I've sent a couple of brutally honest emails to old friends. The never-been-pregnants can't seem to hear the pain in my words (unless they're just bad at expressing themselves in writing, something I wouldn't have noticed before now) and their solution is generally something like, "Let me take you out to get drunk. Vodka fixes everything." I know it's an attempt at solidarity, but of course Vodka doesn't revive a dead baby, and I don't want to have it during the second half of the month, anyway. They have an innocence that I no longer have, and part of me wants to protect them from my hard-won wisdom, while another part wants to pull them up and point out their folly. All in all, too much of a mismatch in philosophy for a deep connection.

The mothers with older kids are most useful to me, because they're not newborn-giddy, and - if anything - older kids remind me of a younger me, not an older Max. They do seem to get how hard this hits, but they can't tell me what they did when they were here. There are little giveaways now and then, like a perception that I'm fat rather than still carrying baby weight. (They don't express it so coarsely, naturally.)

The new mums are worst of all, although none that I know were ever best friend material. There's one who'd had a miscarriage - she'd been devastated back then, and *I* hadn't properly 'got' it - she seems to have forgotten about it now, and speaks of my stillbirth in similar terms, like a minor stumble along the path to motherhood. She views herself as a mother, of course, but she doesn't seem to see me the same way. Our due dates were a month apart, and while I've heard her childbirthing tale, she's never bothered to hear mine. I suspect she thinks they couldn't be similar, so it's best not to go there. But, you know, they are! And mine no less legitimate.

I can't say my husband really gets it, either. He tries, but his family's legacy to him is forget-the-crap-and-move-on, which he fights - with limited success. He picked a fight with me last night to get out of babymaking, and when that sent me into meltdown, he offered, "Why are you worried about it? Dannii Minogue's pregnant for the first time - you can have eight kids one day!" Dannii is a famous Australian ex-pat singer/actress/personality, and I think she's 37. I worry for her - I'm convinced her baby will die (because mine did), and she seems oblivious to any danger in interviews. But, goddamn it, husband forgets all that I tell him about the struggles of older mothers, and trusts media portrayals of ease and bliss.

I'm getting a bit off topic! But yes, you hit the nail on the head. Shadow mum to a shadow baby. Names already picked out and shopping done. Nothing left to do now but check the letterbox every day for a membership card to that OTHER club - the cool one, where the lucky people hang out. Me, just a loser with her wedding stationery picked out and no boyfriend. Heh.

I left facebook, Maddie - I couldn't post a status saying, "Moops feels like crap," and upload an album of sad people holding a bruised baby - and I couldn't not do those things. The party pictures you mention, would have killed me. I need to hold on to the illusion that my support people are actively supporting me when I can't see them. But hey, it's not like I spare a thought for their social lives while I'm grieving for my baby.

Yuck, this big huntsman spider keeps running across my glass door (on the outside, thankfully). Weird reality check - can push out a dead baby and laugh about it, but still scared of harmless ugly spiders!

Eliza, Maddie and Moops,

My heart just breaks for you all. I'm so sorry that all of you have had to endure losing your 'first' children. So, so many people take parenthood for granted, instead of really understanding the gift they have gotten.

I'm in a completely different situation, and yet feel as if I don't 'fit' anywhere at all. I have a living child, lost a baby and still am pregnant with a baby. I sometimes feel like I'm my own little carnival sideshow where people can look and gasp. It's hard to be alone, as someone put it, in the midst of a crowd.

Prayers for you all that those baby clothes and cribs will be filled when the time seems right to you all.

'shadow mum to a shadow baby'.

yes. that's what it is.

i find it hard to know that the loss of this baby means that I'll have different children to those that i would have had otherwise. one of my aunts said that, that she wouldn't chose to change the two kids that she has, but that she still would have wanted the first one she got pregnant with.

i don't think we can be solely responsible for building those bridges. we can make our end of the bridge, but friends and family have to meet us in the middle. they have to realise that if they want to remain close to us, they must try and experience some of our pain. because if they can't or won't do that... then how can we stay close?

one of my friends just had her 16 week check up. at mine, the midwife couldn't find a heartbeat, and that afternoon we found at the hospital that the baby had died. my friend acknowledged that i must have found it really hard, that she was going for that appointment.

she gets it. so i find it easy to care about her pregnancy. i hope so badly that she never knows anything of this pain.

but the ones who have just texted or emailed once when they heard, then have never been heard from again? they can go **** themselves. i don't want to see them any more. they are not my friends.


the thing that hurts me most is that noone except me seems to feel for my baby, who never got to live. not even the hubby, and that hurts. it all seems to be about me, and my pain. i don't want the baby to be forgotten, but i feel that i'm the only one who remembers, even just two months on.

this is crappy. but if i have to be a member of this club, at least you are all there to keep me company. at least we're not alone.

Eve - i can't imagine dealing with this grief while caring for a living child. your situation is just a different crappy. not better or worse.

Eve, it's hard not to feel like a sideshow, on whatever side. Do you know that my blog reader list doubled in the week I lost Gabriel? And is now triple that since the influx since the chemical pregnancy? It's just so odd, that timing. I've never decided quite how to feel about that.

B is right. There is no better side to this world. I mean, I am so relieved that I have not had to deal with how to break down death for my small living child and explain the sibling won't actually be coming home. And I am so grateful I didn't have to care for anyone else in the immediate aftermath. Even my husband and mom took care of the pets for me. I can't imagine how you can get out of bed everyday, Eve.

But then, I expect it's much the same way I do, and we all do - because we have to. Whether it's because of our children in the other room needing breakfast or because our husband is looking at us with hope in his eyes. . . we all do just get up and go, don't we?

I'm quite lucky in that I have a wonderful, sensitive group of friends who try to understand, and barring that, make room for me and all my baggage and accept it all. They care about Gabe as a person and don't blink or flinch when I say 'When I was pregnant with Gabe . . .' or 'When Gabriel was born . . .' - the friends who could accept me as I was or deal with my baggage feel off quite quickly.

Now it's trying to deal with those sorts of in-between folks. The ones I don't see often and don't share meaningful conversations with - the folks who are just fun to hang out with. I realized yesterday I've been hiding from them. I'm not ready for the frivolous (in my head, I thought I was, but really, I'm not). It's just so awkward.

B, I struggle to feel that Will is being remembered as a 'real child' as well. My true friends and family do get it, but because he isn't even born yet, it seems as if he's just conveniently 'vanished'. My hubby does recognize him, but his grief seems so much less intense than mine is. I know that this is just the way of men, and that he could never be as bonded with Will as I was, but it's hard to see him seem so 'normal' these days.

Eliza, I have a very compassionate cluster of friends as well. But those 'in-between' people as you call them, some I always considered friends...it hurts me the ones who haven't at least returned my email (we sent a bulk email with the loss announcement to people a little outside the inner circle), sent me a card, given me a call or anything else. I can't imagine getting an announcement that someone I'm friends with baby died and not reaching out to them.

I'm definitely hiding from church right now. I just don't feel strong enough to 'walk the plank' of people who will all tell me they're very sorry and have been thinking about me, but never picked up the phone or anything else to check on us. Don't get me wrong, we've had some wonderful support from people at our church...but somehow it's the voids that stick out to me right now. I guess this the beginning of the bitterness.

I hope I haven't hijacked this thread. I'm so glad to have fouond you all.

Actually, I was too lost in my own misery to remember what has happened with you Eve. I'm sorry. Your situation must be so horribly confusing.

I never thought about that until just now. Most of the cards we got sending sympathy were from work people. ...Do you know, I just went to count. We got 19 sympathy cards. All except one were from either work or our families. Only one friend thought to send a card. And yet we got over 50 christmas cards. FAR more than normal. Of course, we got emails and phone calls and facebook messages from friends, but... it doesn't quite seem the same.

I don't know if I would have sent a card to a friend who had had an early miscarriage before this happened. But I would hope that I would have sent a card to someone in my situation.

My husband was only off work for three days, and I know that was what he needed to do - but it was so hard for me to accept.

I think that one of my lessons in this whole shitty situation is that I never really liked a lot of the people in the group I hang out with. All I can do is keep the friends that have proved they care and who I love, and stop wasting time with the rest. If not, one of the lessons that losing this baby has taught me has been wasted, and this pain is less worthwhile.

I'm explaining this badly. I hope you understand what I mean.

You're not hijacking. Or if you are, I am too. But I don't see it like that. This is just us. Sharing our grief. Our similarities and differences.

Thinking of you all.

Hello everyone. I just discovered this lovely site recently, a month after losing my third child at 21 weeks. This post-- and the responses-- make me feel less woefully alone. In my own way, I feel like I am between two worlds-- the one where I am mourning the loss of my child and the one where I am trying to function as I did before, where I am trying to pretend that I am still "normal." Like most of you, I am struggling with the immense disappointment that I feel in so many people-- people who never acknowledged my loss... or who barely did. For the life of me, I can't understand how people can think it is acceptable to pretend as if nothing has happened. I lost my daughter. My child. Why can't people get this?? I vacillate between thinking that many of my friends are complete (*&$#s... or thinking that I am the pathetic one (surely there must be something wrong with me if the people who I considered my friends have proven themselves to be so thoughtless, right??). Fortunately, there have been some that have shown some sustained kindness and compassion. I guess I just need to focus on them and, as one of the earlier posters said, &*%@ the rest.

I am so sorry for all of your losses. As truly sad as I am that anyone ever has to experience this horror, I am glad that there is a safe place to dwell where I don't feel like a freak of nature.

Oh, gosh, no hijacking at all! Get it all out - whatever out. It is as helpful for me to read these things as it is to say them myself.

Eve, I had an entire circle of friends who just up and essentially cut me off. I spent a lot of time analyzing and feeling guilty and talking to my therapist about it before I realized it's not my fault. Which is not to say I did everything perfectly, but there should be some amnesty for people in grief and there should never be a time-limit on it (or if there is a shelf-life, I can guarantee that 6 weeks isn't it). I understand what you mean about church though - I was grateful immediately after that we didn't attend anywhere regularly. Work was hard enough when I went back.

I read somewhere on here that there are people who are incapable of checking their shit at the door, who make things all about them; how you won't let them help or how they feel about your tragedy and how you aren't handling it the way they want you to. . . and that about a third of your friends/family will be in the group (the remaining two thirds divided between a third who are sort of neutral - neither helping nor hurting- and a third who are super-awesome and amazing).

I have found that to be true in our lives. Who was where was sort of surprising.

I know I've had a lot of soul-searching too, scm. Is it me? Am I this awful, this brought down, this abnormal? And I realized and learned that no, no it isn't and I am perfectly normal. It's just not everyone can deal with a loss like this.

I often wonder how I would have been before. I know I was awful about miscarriages before I had my first. And I know that I did not offer nearly enough when my coworker lost his child to IUFD, discovered at a routine prenatal appt. I was there, I offered to help, send food, asked how he was, but . . . I could have done more. At the time I was 7/8 weeks pregnant with Gabriel and terrified we might lose him, so I said the right things and was terribly relieved to be let off the hook with a 'thank-you' and a 'we're being taken care, we don't need anything.'

I do think I am a lot more compassionate now, in general. But I also have a shorter temper with bullshit and with people who suck. I just don't have the patience for them anymore. It's funny - I can project and understand a lot better why people are uncomfortable and why they can't look you in the eye or why they pretend things are fine, but I have no more capacity to let it be. Not that I'm confrontational, exactly. I'm just less inclined to extend sympathy to people I feel are acting cowardly.

I don't know why it falls on me to be forbearing, polite, kind, understanding of people's foibles and stumbles in their attempts to relate to me and my loss - shouldn't it be the other way around? I heard that a lot the few times I dared to say anything to someone IRL - like complaining to my sister about a particularly gruesome comment that made me grit my teeth. I was told to be more understanding, and I don't get it. I guess it's because it's a moment for that person, but for us, we get it over and over and over and over again, and all those little tiny cuts add up to a lot of open wounds at the end of the day.

So it's often easier just to hide away and not open yourself up to it - especially if you really, at the end of it, do wish to be kind and understanding and forbearing and generous. It's so much easier to stay home with a book instead of facing yet another round of setting boundaries, awkward pauses while you figure out what this particular group is comfortable with hearing, sometimes getting that wonderful advice (have you thought about adoption yet? as if you can just pop on down to the Adoption Store on the corner and pick your baby out. Oh, you know, my sister-in-law's cousin had a baby loss like yours - that inevitably is nothing like yours - and they did X-and-so or saw Y-specialist and now they have three kids!), or just the complete ignoring all together while the elephant shifts uncomfortably behind your shoulder. . .

It's never just a pleasant evening out anymore is it? I'd suggest a movie myself, if there weren't dangers lurking there that an unexpected thing will just slam you in the heart when you least expect it.

I am so grateful for here where other people understand it. Out there, it can be so awful. Elizabeth McCracken's words always ring through me - not even just a horror story anymore. I'm a cautionary tale.

Eliza, that is interesting about the 'one third' rule. I can see that, though I think I'm blessed that the closest of my friends (four of them) fall into the wonderfully supportive third. But, the truth is, they all have lives..and I know that their lives go on and NEED to go on whether or not I'm dealing with this.

I've heard ALL those horrible adoption/ttc things, as we had 4 years of infertilty before my son and then another 18 months of infertilty before the twins. I definitely learned to speak up for myself when people said such rude things. I'm not quite strong enough to do that yet, though I know I will. I've had a few people who've told me Will's death might have been 'for the better'...and that just sets my nerves on fire. It is NOT better when babies die.

Weirdly enough, I've been living (to some extent) and learning about grief for almost two years now, as one of my best friends lost her 6 year-old son in his sleep two days after his birthday. I never, ever imagined that I would be greiving a child when we I walked with her through her loss. I can't possiby understand what it's like to lose a 6 year old, but sometimes I can't help but compare the support and compassion she received for her 'living' child, vs. my yet-to-be-born child. She has taught me so much though, about perserverance, and reaching out to people for support, and talking openly about Evan, as a way to make other comfortable talking about him.

And the hardest part in all of that is that she had a baby boy a week and a half ago. And our baby boys were to be best friends. But because I care for her so much, I was able to visit her in the hospital during her labor (I happened to be there for doctor's checkups) and hold her newborn baby earlier this week without sobbing.

I guess I need to spend more time focusing on the wonderfully supportive freinds and just let the rest go as many of you have mentioned.

Moops - 'In person I rarely let on how I feel, but I've sent a couple of brutally honest emails to old friends. The never-been-pregnants can't seem to hear the pain in my words (unless they're just bad at expressing themselves in writing, something I wouldn't have noticed before now) and their solution is generally something like, "Let me take you out to get drunk.'

I've been finding this as well. I sent honest replies to a couple of my friends and while they replied back to me, they just completely ignored the 'I'm hurting, this is hard, and I don't feel like that will ever change at the moment' from me and just re-invited me out to lunch. I get that they don't get it - they can't. But I feel like if they can't acknowledge my pain, what's the point in getting together because I'll be pretending. There's not a lot in my life except this pain at the moment. So I don't know what to do - it's not that they've done anything that means I don't want them in my life but I just don't know if there's any point in having them in my life right now. I guess if they're still there when I come out the other end of this, they are, and if they're not, then we'll no longer be friends.

Eliza - 'Now it's trying to deal with those sorts of in-between folks. The ones I don't see often and don't share meaningful conversations with - the folks who are just fun to hang out with. I realized yesterday I've been hiding from them. I'm not ready for the frivolous (in my head, I thought I was, but really, I'm not). It's just so awkward.'

This is exactly what I'm trying to say above - I'm three months into this and I still can't imagine when I'll be ready for these encounters. A friend is getting married in May so I hope I'm up to that by then.

God, I can't tell you how reassuring it is to hear that others think the same way I do. I've been avoiding doing many things and going to many places out of fear of running into people. I went to the gym for the first time since my loss last week. I literally had an anxiety attack while I was on the treadmill. There is a group of women that I know who go there and, overall, they are a catty and competitive group. I hung out with them briefly, but couldn't stand the fact that everyone was in a competition to see who could get pregnant first. I dread running into any one of them because I fear that they will perceive my loss as some kind of victory on their part ("oh, we thought she'd beat us in the race to have a baby... guess not!")

Oh, and don't even ask me about going to the hairdressers.... The last time I was there, I was talking about my pregnancy. So, now I have to go in and say "douse me with hair dye... there's no more baby for me to harm...."

Scm - I haven't been back to the gym or my hairdresser. I think I'm just going to see a different hairdresser now. I've started going to pilates with my friend but I had my friend who I go with explain my situation to them so I could talk about having had a c-section without getting questions about the baby. Have you got anyone that could do the same? For a couple of other things (acupuncture) I emailed and explained - I find it hardest to explain to someone that doesn't know - so I could talk about it when I got there.

Maddie x

I'm so sorry to hear you lost your daughter scm.

As far as getting back to normal goes, there is no going back to the normal you knew before. Nothing is ever the same again. I was quite scared when one of my friends (not someone who's lost a child, but someone who has had some incredibly traumatic situations in the last year or so) said that to me, but now it's actually quite comforting. I can redefine normal. I don't have to squeeze myself back into the shoes that just don't fit anymore.

Eliza, yeah, one of my sisters is firmly in the 'it's all about ME' camp. I NEVER in a million years would have thought it. And the situation with your co-worker, it sounds like you couldn't have been more supportive! Noone offered us food, practical help, anything other than 'let me know if you need anything'. and that was no use at all.

I kind of understand about the 'you should be more understanding' when people are insensitive stuff too. It's shitty, and why should we have to put up with it - but if we get angry at every stupid remark, or every time someone isn't there for us that we expected would 'get it'? We'll spend every minute of every day steaming mad. And it won't do anyone any good.

Oh, Eve. I'm so sorry to hear about your friend's loss, too. I'm glad her baby was OK and you've been all right around the new baby. Somehow I'm OK with babies. At the end of the day, they aren't mine.

Maddie, one of my friends is getting married in April. The girl who is due three weeks before I was (who posted insensitively on fb and who I don't want to see ever again anyway) will be due the day after, but she's adamant she will be at the wedding. I can't stand the thought of going. I don't want to go. I can't go. But she's one of the people who's been most supportive - she says I can decide about her hen night the day before, basically, and I want to be there for her. But if I see the pregnant one..... I will cry and cry and cry.

I'd never told my hairdresser I was pregnant. But after I lost the baby I told her when I went in. She was lovely about it and much more subdued than her usual chatty cheerful self. I was glad she was so understanding. I managed not to cry while i was in there, but sobbed after I came out.

So interesting you all mention the hairdresser. My last appointment I was discussing my twins as well. I SO need a haircut, but I haven't gone either. Maybe I'll find another hairdresser, she was pretty darn expensive anyway.

I do prefer email in telling people what happened, or for them to read my blog. I have two blogs, a more private one that only close friends and few chosen family membebers in RL know about (and that I have lots of great online friends who visit) where I can REALLY share my feelings. And I also have a totally public blog that updates how things are going with Abby and such.

I think I just need to wear a t-shirt out that says: please check with my blog.

Oh yeah, and I'm happier than ever not to have a FB account right now.

Eve, I deactivated my Facebook account minutes after I got home from the hospital. I can't read another " saw ten fingers and ten toes in the ultrasound!!!!!" status updates. I don't need to read about some obscure person from high school class giving birth around my due date. Even the non-baby status updates irk me. Life is happily going on for everyone else while I'm mired in grief. I don't need any more reminders of that. I have enough reminders in my real life that I can't just "deactivate" (although I wish I could....).

Don't you often wish you could just wear a t-shirt? One that says however you are feeling today? I know it changes a lot for me. I feel pretty even-keeled much of the time, but there are those days I wish I could wear a shirt that says, "I'm fine, no really. Just sad today." or "I really need to hear his name today." or "Back the Fuck Off. I'm angry at the world."

Right after I wished I could have a card that I could just hand out, you know? I wanted to explain to the nice lady in the store why I was fighting back tears and why she could see me break down in sobs as soon as I left the store, but I couldn't.

I haven't been back to the gym either, but that is sheer laziness on my part. I don't really know anyone and I was on not-quite-bedrest-but-dear-God-don't-exercise! for pretty much the entire summer so no one there knows I'm pregnant. Now that we're about to hit February and the New Year's rush should be over, I am out of excuses and just need to suck it up.

Also lucky not to have a hairdresser. I just keep it long and that's that. I did have a bunch cut off by her hairdresser right after, and she put in layers, so I should do something about that, but I'm grateful I don't have that reminder.

B, I think for me, what really bothered me about the 'be understanding' comments is that I *am* pretty understanding. The most confrontational thing I ever said to someone was a mild "Well, we're not sure about that, we hope so." when someone said something really assinine about how we're young and won't have any trouble having kids, despite knowing I'm nearly 30 and Gabe was my fourth pregnancy. I always tried to smile and bite my tongue and be nice in the moment because I do get that those people think they are helping.

I would just later come back to what I thought was a safe place - my sister, my old friends - and try to explain why that comment hurt so much. And would hear over and over how I needed to be more understanding and have more patience with other people. I likened it to showing up at what I thought was an aid station in battle, taking off my tunic to show the hundred cuts bleeding freely and being told I wasn't hurt at all and to simply suck it up. I think that's what bothered me. I WAS being understanding in the moment, but I needed them to understand me and let me get the pain out and treat the wound and instead only heard what amounted to 'you are being selfish and self-centered, and God, don't you know how hard you make it for people?' When I expected these people who were close to me and loved me to at least *try* to understand how I felt.

To be fair to my sister, she has been generally awesome, just not in this area.

I don't know. I feel like on the whole, 5 months out, we're ok. But the whole trying again thing makes it all more complicated.

I kept my FB account. The first thing I did on getting home from the hospital was update my blog and my FB. I didn't use it for months after and I still don't do much with it beyond an occasional innocuous status update and that's mostly because my parents got into FB and like being able to contact me that way (I have a terrible habit of leaving my cell phone in the car and missing calls).

"the thing that hurts me most is that noone except me seems to feel for my baby, who never got to live."

B, that is what hurts me the most too. Only one person at work said something to my face about my loss when I got back. Everyone else ignored it. It was like I had a long case of flu or something, except even then people would have asked if I was feeling better. Everyone avoids me now, and no one mentions my son's name to me except my mom. Sometimes it feels like he was never here, just a random bit of tissue that biology took care of. I frequently feel like the people around me don't think I should still be mourning. I mean really, would you ask someone that lost a baby a month ago if they did anything exciting this weekend? I don't get it, and I want to scream.

What makes me feel better, though, is all of you. You say my son's name and help me remeber. I will remember with you, B. I'm sure everyone here will.

Yes, we really do need a tee-shirt. Mine would say "I lost my baby, his name was Aiden, please don't ask me how I'm doing today unless you mean it"

SCM - I'm so sorry that you lost your daughter, I lost my Aiden at 21 weeks too, a month ago today. If you need to talk you can email me.

Jen, I'm so sorry that people have been so insensitive to you at work. It amazes me the LACK of things people do when your babies dies like this (my Will died in utero at 24.5 weeks). I'll admit that I've been blessed with a BRILLIANT small support group who have provided us with more food than we can eat. But beyond these few people. I've recieved but a small handful of cards (and most of them are 'thinking of you' as opposed to sympathy, a few quick emails, and really only calls from my closest friends. I did receive one beautiful bouquet of flowers from my dad (who never called, but that's probably for the better)...but no others since we have had no service.

I don't mean to sound materialistic, it just feels like people pretend it never happened. If Will or Aiden were a two year old or a 20 year old, I just think it would be different.

And I can I just vent that I hate the 'How are you?" when it's insincere, too? How the bleep do you think I am?????? Oh, the assessment that I'm doing 'so much better today' or whatever they say, as if a lift in my voice means I'm on the permanent upswing from mourning my dead son.

Thanks for letting me vent here. I cannot even vent like this on my blog as too many people in RL know about it.

Wishing you all times of comfort today, my friends.