Have you ever had an encounter with someone so dumb that you wished you kept some sort of suicide tool in your handbag? Dear Sweet Jesus, some people are just... I don't even have any words to describe!!! (This is actually in reference to a non-baby stupidity, although I have stories for baby stupidity as well...)
Last night, Peter and I had an encounter with someone who just... Wow, where do I begin... Talks to hear themselves talk... Is so self-righteous and self-important that they can't even begin to see how absolutely unintelligent they sound... Has no concept of conversing because they are so busy talking at you that they cant talk with you... Apparently doesn't know how to speak in complete sentences (or maybe doesn't realize that you need a subject and a predicate, or at the very least something more than a string of nouns...) I'm all for poetic license (I mean, check out my blog for goodness sakes!) but when you are trying to have an intellectual conversation, at least make an attempt to make sense.
The sad part is that I dont even know if the person realizes that they are so inept. Which makes it no less frustrating. UGH!!!! We were both so frustrated last night that we were actually glad to have to go to church for choir practice. Because at least we could unwind with friends and spend the evening surrounded by warmth and love. It's a good choir group. We're all friends and a lot of us get together for dinner or to simply hang out, outside of church.
For those who have emailed asking if Peter and I are okay or just to simply send love, thank you, thank you, thank you. We are okay. We both grieve differently and we understand that about each other. I have an "irish temper" and the same is true of my grief. At points, it just builds us so much that I have to just let it rush out so that I can cope. I only do it with Peter. He understands this and works with it. He is different. He actually will nestle into getting held sometimes before he just unwinds with his tears. On most levels, we know what the other needs and are able to provide that. At work, he is okay to just sit in his office, with his light off, and spend moments where he can privately grieve when those moments hit. I can't because of the public nature of my job, so I end up bringing that home, building it up, and eventually having a really bad day. We're working through this.
We aren't really "therapy" types, although we did talk about it. It would be a waste of time for us. Peter just doesn't open up to people and I just dont give a damn to. We both pray a lot; as my grandmother would say, Jesus is the ultimate Counselor. What we have found, however, is that those who have lost children, even those who cant open up to others, feel like they can talk to someone else who is orphaned, too. We find this a lot with older women, whose losses were basically met with "get over it, have another baby" and who were unable to really grieve, and with men, who feel like they cant really talk about it (outside of with other fathers who understand) for fear of being perceived as weak. Countless people have talked to us because they feel like they can let it out finally. And, in that, we both have found some peace in all of this. Peace that our journey through this, our openness with this, has given them leave to finally grieve and let their feelings come to the surface. Peace that our pain and our suffering is redemptive for someone else. And not just redemptive in the hope that our suffering eases the burdens of humanity in a metaphysical sense. This redemption is more physical, more real.
Tomorrow, Sophia would be 11 months old. I cant (wont) lie and say that it doesnt hurt and that my heart doesnt get ripped from my chest every moment that I realize my babies are dead. I cant tell you that I dont look back on the last decade of marriage and count the 8 children that live in my heart... the three I held, the three I said good-bye to before they had even really started to grow, and the two I fell in love with but never got the chance to adopt... and feel such a loss that words dont even begin to describe... But, in this journey, I feel like we are helping others and that takes the edge off. Helping the unborn in our Respect Life pursuits, helping those who grieve, helping those who had no one to talk to... Perhaps this is our road less traveled.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth
Then took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet, knowing how way leads onto way
I doubted if I should ever come back
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood
And I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference