The Rule of Thirds
--From Alan D. Wolfelt, Healing A Parent’s Grieving Heart: 100 Practical Ideas After Your Child Dies
A good friend who lost her husband very suddenly to a brain tumor in ’04 sent me this book last year after Maddy died. She liked the “Spouse” version, and being cut of a similar cynical edgy sports-lovin’ foul-mouthed cloth as I, thought I might appreciate Child version. I did, it’s the griefbook I appreciated most, and still find myself picking it up a year later. One thing I really like about this book is that every page is a topic with a few bullet points, so you can open it randomly and discover something, and if something sits wrong on a particular day you can just flip to the next page and see if that feels better. (Or put it down, and pick it up months later. I find it to be rather timeless that way.) No need to sit and feel like you need a few hours to go through something linear. I also like that, for-all-intents-and-purposes, it’s genderless and can be applied equally to a husband or wife -- and let’s face it, very little out there on this subject can be.
I'm sure I read this particular passage long ago, during the first pass, but wish it had stuck. It did not. And so I am constantly amazed at those thirds who fall at the ends of the spectrum, the ones who surprise me with their understanding and kindness, and the ones who floor me with their inability to show even a modicum of compassion. The other surprise for me was that this “third rule” included family.
Let’s start with the innocuous middle third. There will always be those who will treat your life-altering experience as a vacation: you were gone for a while, you came back, maybe shared some pictures and stories, people mingled around the water cooler for a few days to follow up, and then it got dropped and life moved on. At some times I’m a bit taken aback at what appears to be complete ignorance (“Did I tell you? You do know that my kid died, right?”) and yet 30 seconds later am so fucking relieved to be deeply involved in a conversation about how maybe I should pay attention to the Penguins in the playoffs this year. Aback that they wouldn’t say anything, relieved that they said nothing, all the while rather pleased that they don’t view me as some bad jinxy hex that needs avoided altogether (although I may be missing some crucifix and garlic waving when I turn to leave). And frankly I’m at the point where I’m rather pleased that I can go places and talk to people WHO KNOW about things like books and dogs and whether the Steelers did right in the draft (another quarterback? really?).
I’m constantly surprised by the bookends. I’m blessed to have some very good friends and family in my life that I knew would be supportive, and they are, but I’m always so impressed by how much. These are people who have such grace, they make it seem so effortless to say the right thing at exactly the right time. I end up thanking them, they are just so meaningful and classy, and they look at me as though I’m thanking them for breathing or combing their hair – they simply can’t understand what it is they’re doing that warrants praise when it is simply how they are. And I realize: I probably wouldn’t be one of these people if I were on the other side of this mess. I’d be tongue-tied, never knowing what to say, not horribly sure of my own emotional sanity, and probably wind up in the innocuous middle chatting about the NFL draft.
But I know I give thanks, and am so surprised by the outpouring of kindness, because of the other end of the spectrum where people shock me with their unsympathetic cruelty. I don’t think in a million years I would’ve thought that someone could turn my baby dying against me, but indeed, some have. If someone had told me the day after Maddy died that friends and (gasp) family would not just behave awkwardly around us but actually treat us poorly I would’ve scoffed. No way. People are not that stupid and cruel, are they? (are they?)
Um, yes, gentle reader, they are. It really began in earnest around six months after. And suddenly people began leaving signs in fluorescent paint: enough. Stop. You’re wallowing. Party poopers. Isn’t it time to move on? How dare you suck the life out of someone else’s joyful event. Don’t want to call me? Well, two can play at the game. Apparently six months is about the time when the people of little patience move into that end of the spectrum, and begin a not-too-subtle dance of pushing you, hurrying you, belittling you, ignoring you. I think it dawns on others, if you’ve ignored them for this long for other reasons (say, they have children that would’ve been the age of your deadone and they haven’t been horribly involved anyway, staying in the middle third for so long), that you’re avoiding them. No, you’re angry at them. They develop a complete psychosis about how you must feel about them, without them asking you. And if you’re unlucky, someday they’ll dump it on you – like one of my neighbors did.
Perhaps most surprising and upsetting to me was that family fell into this category of the “make you feel worse” third. I should add a disclaimer here that I do have a couple family members – one who I assumed would handle the situation poorly given past experience, and another who had a baby shortly after who we ceased contact with – who have flabbergasted me with their solid appearance in the front end of the spectrum. They are patient, articulate, compassionate, and the latter even defends us against the detractors despite the fact that we haven’t seen them much since the birth of their son. But to think your own flesh and blood would grow tired of your grief -- tire of hearing of their relative! Maddy! Don’t you miss her too? -- impatiently try and hustle you along through the alleged grief steps (“They must be in that anger phase”), wonder if you’d ever snap out of it. And then do things like fail to show up at a memorial service for your daughter after promising they’d be there, refuse to answer your calls (even on holidays) after telling them they were disappointed, and as Julia so eloquently put it a few days ago: refuse to check their shit at the door. It’s not about them, none of this.
I’m torn; while I’m relieved to look around the blogverse and realize other people’s families let them down too and we’re not the only dysfunction to arise from the ashes of a deadbaby, I’m also saddened that it seems to be such a pattern. There’s a dissertation to be written here, about the pressures such tragedies put on extended families and how they deal with them long term. Are they more invested in our happiness than our friends, neighbors and coworkers? Or does the law of averages simply say that a third of the people you run with, no matter their relation to you, will fall over there, off the edge into a pit of selfishness and denial and ignorance?
But when they get me down, I flip over and revel in the wonderful part of the spectrum again, and wonder why it is that everyone isn’t wired like that. I would like to think behaving that way is human. It’s clearly not.
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I'm eager to see others' reactions to this.
Because I don't think that anyone I know (well, except the deadbabybloggers) has been supportive of my need to mourn.
Which is fine with me. Because, honestly, I'm not especially supportive of my need to mourn.
great post, tash. I'm also curious to see others' responses.
I also found support in the most unexpected places, but was so letdown by my expectation of others. I think it's unfortunately human nature for some people to make everything all about them -- whether it's making you feel worse or not being there at all.
others may disagree, but I've often wondered if the lack of understanding and empathy was in part because my baby was not yet full term. I think people want you to "get over" any deadbaby loss -- after all, they didn't know the person who died -- but a 2nd trimester loss seems even more invisible to the rest of the world, or at least that's how it felt. some even called his death a miscarriage, which made me shudder.
I agree that in any event expectations should be checked at the door -- forget about what you would hope or expect from family and friends (they are bound to disappoint, though sometimes may pleasantly surprise), and they should get rid of their ideas about how others should grieve.
I am so happy to have found this blog. I lost my baby (17 weeks gestation) November 2006 and have been looking for a place that understands ever since. I was constantly surprised by the people who weren't supportive. I never in a million years would've thought that the people who completely ignored what happened my daughter would do it. Best friends! people I'd known, laughed and cried with, for years and years. At least for every reaction, there is an equal and opposite reaction and others, who I didn't expect anything from, would step up and give me the strength I needed. Great blog. Maybe one day I will feel ok enough to spill my guilt-ridden heart…maybe.
Reading this overwhelmed me with three things: 1) overwhelming relief and gratitude to you tash, for articulating something I don't have the balls to write about; 2) a renewed desire to break window or punch in wall at some things people have said and done over the past year; and 3) stupidity for not writing anonymously, for being unable to write about what has really and truly broken my heart: the delinquent one-third. (Clever, clever niobe.)
That looks like a good book......
*hugs*
You're an amazing woman.
I am grandma to a lostbaby and mom to the lostbaby's mama. I hope my daughter comes to glow in the woods often to share her own awesome strength and to be restored by yours. Mother's Day assumed new meaning for me yeaterday. Thirty-nine years of treasuring each Mother's Day. This year was different. I'm an onlooker to my daughter's pain, helpless and seemingly useless. Of what good is a mother who can offer no solace to her child? Tell me - what can a lostbabygrandma do to help her child.
hmph, that rule is very interesting, now i need a sheet of paper and a pen to work out the numbers... ...
and honestly, I guess I am not the front third, probably the middle, talking about the prices of organic cherry pits, or something. I wonder, those graceful third, what's their secret manual?
And I agree with Kate, why didn't I write as Kashtushkha, or smth like that?
jkco's grandma, it breaks my heart that you have to be here. I think if you hold the space, and speak the baby's name, it will mean so much. It already says a lot that you are here, bless your heart. I am sorry for the monumental loss.
I bought that book, only a few days after C was stillborn. I remember being in Cha.pters, my boobs were painfully engorged, and I just sat there reading it. Page after page after page. I'll have to pull it out again; read it now that some time has passed.
I have withdrawn from so many people, so it's hard to really know who would fall into what category. I have this one friend who really believes she is being supportive. She's done the online research. She *knows* what to say and what not to. She's done everything she can to make sure I don't feel abandoned by her. But, some days, her support is just not what I want. She doles out advice on what I can do to feel better (which usually comes down to: THINK POSITIVE and you'll feel all better). I know better than to talk "deadbaby"with her, but I do. It always ends up with hurt feelings: my own. It always ends up with my feeling angry with her. My feelings seem to get ignored and pushed aside by her desire to fix me and make things all better. She just cannot understand that THIS does not get better.
I find it hard to say anything to her. I mean, she really doesn't get it. I would blog about it, but she reads my blog. I have to say it's much easier (because I'm a coward) to just withdraw. To pull away from anyone and anybody who has shown the propensity to hurt me - whether it is intentional or not. I don't like getting my feelings hurt and C's death has left me extra vulnerable. It's really hard...
For jkco's grandma, all you have to do is listen without judgement. Do not dole out advice. Do not place expectations. I read a quote recently that reflects how I feel when it comes to the support of family and friends:
"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares." Henri Nouwen, Out of Solitude
Your post is so true. Some surprise you for the better, but the others that are hurtful and mean leave you shocked and angry.
Currently, my brother and SIL are 35 weeks pregnant with twins. They were very insensitive and even angry when my family was concerned with how I took the news that they were expecting twins. My twins were born almost 20 months ago and we lost N at 3 months of age to a rare brain abnormality. They were present when N died. Do they remember that moment or have they just erased it from their memory? They have made very hurtful comments about being over N's death. I know they have moved on, but they are also expecting me to have moved on. I am sure that I am a scary reminder that not all babies are healthy or survive, but I am not sure it deserves the treatment I have been receiving.
I spent Mother’s Day weekend at their baby shower wishing I could just vanish…How can I explain that I can’t be around them? It is too painful of a memory to look at her pregnant and remember the hope and excitement of my boys impending birth when I was in her place. It makes me feel selfish and like I am wallowing in my sorrow when I can’t be around them. Everyone just sweeps the loss of N under the rug and goes on with life. I can’t do that, he is forever my son. I know I have to find a way to deal as their twins will grow up with my surviving twin. My relationship with them is very strained…not sure what to do about it and still be true to my feelings.
the way that some people seem to resent any suggestion that they may in some way represent something painful to you really baffles and upsets me.
we have been lucky in that sense - the few people who really triggered us, who had babies due near the same time, the one who had a micropreemie (who lived) on our son's due date - have been gentle, and seem to have understood that they represented something painful to us. but really, no one other than my mom and one friend actually ever came right out to be supportive, per se...in terms of actually asking what we needed or doing anything except circumspectly sending sympathy cards...at least until i started blogging about it a year later. since then, people occasionally surprise me by bringing him up and being very kind...almost as though they simply hadn't a goddamn clue what to say and needed the overt invitation. so there has been some benefit to not blogging anonymously.
but for us, yeh, 80% of friends and family fell into the middle, with 15% occasionally being profoundly unsupportive asses, and maybe 5% really trying to be there.
to the grandma above...like i said, it was my own mum who tried hardest and did the most. she did the one thing for me that no one else really did - she did not wipe all mention of him under the carpet, and continued to ask how i was really doing. and before his anniversary the first year, she said right up front, "i'd like to do something to remember him on his birthday. i was thinking i'd weed out and landscape under his trees. is that okay with you?" not big things, these...we're not hugely successful at talking about emotions. but with her, at least, i understood that the door had not been shut and he had not been forgotten, and that meant the world to me.
That sounds like a good book. Too bad I didn't hear about it earlier-- a cynic in me never did find an expression in print.
I guess we are lucky. We have only one family member who has been an outstanding jackass. And a lot of our friends are in the very supportive category, with most others filling out the middle much more than third. A couple are bringing up the rear, it's true. Acquaintances are a different story, of course-- mostly in the la-la-la camp.
jkco's grandma, I am so sorry for your loss, and your daughter's. I guess one thing I would say is that while it is true and understandable that your hurt is compounded by feeling helpless to make it any better for your daughter, it is important to remember that nobody can fix it for her. My own mother has this issue-- that it is hard for her to watch me suffer. But the thing is, hearing that doesn't help me any. It only makes me feel like I am now responsible for my suffering making it bad for her. She means well, and I know that, but at times I have had to distance myself from her because I just couldn't take the perceived extra responsibility.
Jennifer, I am so so sorry for the loss of your N, and for how these so called family are treating you and your pain. It's cruel and mean. It sounds like you would've been completely ok not showing up for that shower, or leaving early. I am sorry you have to deal with such jerks so closely.
I am currently struggling with how to deal with a previously respected BIL/SIL who have massively failed us in many of the ways that you have described here. There is nothing like that kind of hurt; those you expect - NEED - to be there and there are just... not. Interestingly, it was at 6 months that my SIL got tired of me. I didn't know that was the magic deadline, but I think it's true (now reviewing other failed relationships). Great post; it has me thinking.
This is painfully true. 6 months is around when it exploded between oldest friend and me - and we'd hardly spoken anyway.And close to when bad went to shit between my husband and certain members of his family.
Jennifer, I am sorry. I hate those people on your behalf.
To the grandma above, I'm sorry. But like some others have said, you can't fix it. Just be there, quiet, and abiding her pain. And don't brush yours away either.
I feel lucky that most of my family and good, good friends have been supportive. But I have sensed lately that some of them may be "tiring" of this. As if it is a chore to talk to me. So they talk to me now as though nothing happened. I get it because they don't know what else to say, and they don't know how to repspond to my one word answers, like "fine" when asked how I am doing, but I am getting to the point where I would rather just not talk about anything. I feel like saying to some friends, why don't I just call you when I am done with this? Knowing, of course, that I will never call because I will never be done with this. Anyway, I anticipate the next few months will see a few more friends drop off the list...
as always tash you say so much of what i am thinking/have thought. you say it much more eloquently but with the same sentiment.
after losing tess and oliver, i'd say the rule of thirds would pretty much describe it. though the magic 6 months was a mere 10 weeks before shit hit the fan for one couple in our lives. funny how people can take a tragedy and turn it around and be pissed at YOU as if you caused it to happen.
it still hurts, three years later. and sadly it's only reading the words of other deadbabymommas that i have found some comfort and some solace. just as when i was hurting as an infertile living in a very fertile world, only the women that have walked in these shoes know how they rub blisters that never seem to heal. the relief i felt that i was not in fact crazy for the thoughts in my head saved me and makes me feel a little guilty to this day. i wish it were a club of one, that no woman would know this pain. but that's just not how this world goes round.
The rule of thirds rings true for me. But I know that I play a role in it too, in some cases. I can't talk to my mother, but it's not because of anything she has said or will say. It's because she is so sad, and that makes me sad, and makes me feel responsible. And so she tries not to be sad, but that makes it awkward. Somehow my grief is just magnified when she is around, because her grief is so palpable. I think for me I just have to let some time pass before I can spend it with her--and that is all my fault, not hers.
Oh so true...the reactions have been very interesting.
We have had AMAZING reactions and love from family and friends. My best friend sent us to Disneyland..she new we needed a real break from reality.
Others have been there when we needed them...respectful and full of love and help.
Others have been totally insensitive or didn't know what to do or say.
I can barely speak to my BIL and his simple wife as they seem to refuse to even THINK about what we went through.
Not one sorry...nothing.
They were mad because dh was home with me taking care of me and not worrying about their mom's empty house.
They kept bitching about christmas when it was the last thing on our minds.
They just kept saying to us that we had NO idea what THEY were going through...um well no...but we did know that they hadn't lost a baby.
Still nothing.
I stay away from them.
I have a dear Aunt and Uncle who are lovely and compassionate and sympathized since they had suffered multiple miscarriages in days gone by..however...over the time I felt that I wasn't sounding sad ENOUGH for them and so I started to back away too.
I basically haven't been calling people unless I had to..I just stuck with the one's I could deal with.
So for the most part we have been 'lucky' with the care and understanding....but it is the negatives you tend to remember.