The 16 shittiest things people said this year

Turn on your television during the days between Christmas and New Year’s, and you’ll quickly notice all of the “best of the year” lists – 100 funniest reality TV moments, 25 most dramatic plays in sports, 10 best songs, etc., etc., etc. So, as we conclude 2015, I’m posting a similar list – the 16 shittiest things people said this year, to me or others, regarding Matthew’s death.

To those who are like, “OMG – that’s SO negative,” I’m sorry. I’ll point out that, on the bright side, I could make a super-long list featuring all I’ve experienced highlighting the best humanity has to offer, and I probably will, eventually, though this isn’t what I’m doing today. Because sometimes it’s nice to vent about horrible things people say.

DISCLAIMER – Since I have no idea who reads my blog, if you recognize yourself in here, I’m sorry. But not really, because what you said either sucked balls or was exceptionally unintelligent, or both. And I didn’t use your name. So get over yourself, and go work that bunch out of your panties. And know I’m (maybe) not angry with you, that is, if I’m referring to you as a “friend”. If I’m not, well, I might be angry with you.

NOTE – I’m lucky to have good support and that people don’t say awful things to me 24/7. So, while I’ve heard more than 16 shitty things, I also realize it could be worse. And, unfortunately, almost six months into this, I know my stories aren’t especially uncommon or unique, so feel free to one-up me in the comments with some terrible things people said to you this year. And we’ll all feel less alone.

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Here’s my list (I’ve italicized my fantasy responses for fun).

#16 – Whispered to Mark (about me) outside our hospital room door (~24 hours after Matthew died) by a concerned nurse aware of our situation, “Why is she freaking out? Why is she crying so hard?”

I don’t know. Is this your first day on the job? Or your first day here – on this planet? Because, on planet Earth, it’s expected that one might “cry so hard” shortly after losing her child.

#15 – Spoken by a hospital-visitor-turned-prophet, “This will be the worst thing that ever happens to you. It’s horrible. But now you know what your worst thing in life will be. It’s this. Life only gets better from here.”

Whew. Thank God. As horrendous as this is, the mystery’s gone – this is my tragedy, and all I have to do now is process it. And then I’ll live happily ever after… Wait. What about those who experience multiple tragedies? Damn. Though, I’ll hope and pray your words prove prophetic.

#14 – Said to one of Matthew’s grandparents (~two days after Matthew died) by a more distant relative concerned over her dilemma, “Did he breathe? Did he live at all? I need to know if I should add him to the family tree.”

Do whatever you want with your stinking family tree. You can even remove me from it if it’s too confusing.

#13 – Emailed by a low-on-listening-skills friend and attendee of Matthew’s memorial service immediately following the service (where our pastor preached, “Do not let ANYONE tell you this was God’s plan.”), “As hard as it may be to hear, it was God’s plan.” And, for good measure, he concluded with, “You never know what is possible. Good luck.”

So God kills babies as a means of executing his plan? Isn’t God supposed to be loving? Don’t some believe tragedy happens because of sin in the world? How do you know this was God’s plan? Did He tell you? Would you be as accepting of “God’s plan” if we were talking about your child? There are so many questions for you to ponder. Good luck.

#12 – Uttered by the first therapist I fired, “You’re the only one in the history of this hospital to lose a child in this way.”

Thank you – I feel so much better and so much less alone now. I’m so glad we PAID you for the privilege of hearing your GARBAGE.

#11 – Texted by a friend (just a couple weeks after we’d returned home from the hospital), “So, have you been watching Big Brother?”

The first thing I did when I arrived home from the hospital was catch up on Big Brother. I’m so glad life’s back to normal now! Or maybe I haven’t watched any shows, or even left my bed, because I’m so grief-stricken, I’m barely functioning. I’ll let you decide which sounds more reasonable, though it seems you don’t understand the magnitude of what’s happened.

#10 – Spoken to a mutual friend on August 13 (the one-month anniversary of Matthew’s death) by birth-announcement-friend, “Should I include Christine on my group text to let her know my baby’s here?”

Yes. Yes, you should. Especially if you’d enjoy a flurry of angry text messages. And if you’d enjoy me blaming you for damage sustained by my property from me throwing my phone through my window.

#9 – Offered by a well-meaning co-worker (~five weeks after Matthew died), “Sally’s adopted baby is really cute. Maybe you should consider that route? Since this didn’t work out for you?”

Thanks, but I’m not looking for ideas. Only support.

#8 – Said by our home energy efficiency auditor (don’t ask) in response to me telling him I had a horrible summer, because my first-born child died, “Oh… I’m so sorry. Well, better luck next time.”

I’m sorry I didn’t lie about my summer, and, instead, burdened you, a stranger, with my sad news. But what a bizarre way to respond. Well, better luck next time. With your social skills.

#7 – Offered by a relative regarding my post-partum weight loss journey, “But losing weight is so much easier when you’re breastfeeding.”

But I didn’t need you to tell me this. Because the benefits of breastfeeding are so obnoxiously touted that I’d have to reside under a rock to NOT know this. And because of other OBVIOUS reasons.

#6 – Said to Mark over a business breakfast (and said frequently to those loss moms on Instagram with large followings), “I can relate. My baby almost died. But he’s fine now. It was terrifying. I’m so traumatized.”

Your baby ALMOST died? How horrifying. But my baby ACTUALLY died. So you can’t relate. At all. So go commiserate with another whose baby ALMOST died. And then you can rejoice in your happy outcomes and thankfulness. Believe me, as great as many of us bereaved parents seem, you don’t want to join our club. I promise.

#5 – Noted by a friend who apparently doesn’t connect the dots very easily, “I didn’t know this (infant death) still happened in modern times.” Noted two minutes later by this same friend, “Two years ago my other friend lost her baby at 25 weeks.”

To borrow the words of Survivor’s Jeff Probst – I’ve got nothing for you. Head back to camp.

#4 – Spoken to one of Matthew’s grandparents (after viewing Matthew’s picture) by a man with four children of his own, “Ohhhhh… Wow. I didn’t really understand your loss before. But now I do. I’m so sorry.”

Ohhhhh… Wow. I didn’t really understand your idiocy before. But now I do. I’m so sorry. I guess you’re one who needs visuals to process EVERYTHING, including the trauma surrounding the loss of a near-full-term baby.

#3 – Spoken recently by an OB nurse, “Just remember, everything happens for a reason.”

Just remember, you probably shouldn’t say this to patients. And, just remember, if you take a few minutes to turn on the news or read something or observe your surroundings, you’ll realize many horrific things (and good things) happen for no effing reason at all. And, just remember, no “reason” will ever be good enough (for me) to justify losing Matthew.

#2 – Said by a more recently bereaved parent (with living children) after learning Matthew is my first and only child, “Oh my gosh. At least I have a reason to wake up every morning.”

I guess my husband and family and friends and dog and job and desire to honor Matthew’s memory and promote awareness and potentially give Matthew a sibling someday are not good enough reasons to continue on. Excuse me while I go off myself.

#1 – Said to one of Matthew’s grandparents by a business acquaintance at a meeting (upon learning Matthew died), “Well, at least they can just jump back in the sack – hahahaha!”

And at least you just said this before an audience. So people will see you for the worthless asshole you are – hahahaha!

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Wishing everyone a Happy New Year and all the love and light and hope and peace you deserve (a helluva LOT). And may you hear fewer shitty things next year.

See you in 2016. ❤

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63 thoughts on “The 16 shittiest things people said this year

  1. Brilliant post.

    There are some idiots in the world! The family tree one knocked me sick.

    I’ve had the ‘I know how you feel- my baby almost died’ one way too many times. Once I had to sit for almost an hour hearing the traumatic tale of labour almost gone wrong! Ugh!

    I hope 2016 brings more joy and less asshole encounters to us xxx

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you. Indeed, so many idiots. And yes, considering the source was a family member, the family tree comment I think is very much one of the worst on this list. And ughhhhh, why do so many people have to tell us about their near-miss experiences? It isn’t the same thing. Hoping for fewer asshole encounters in 2016 for sure. xoxo

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  2. Wow, you really have had it all said to you *hug*. I’ve been amazed at the insensitivity and awkwardness of people when they find out about Alice, and some of the rings they have said and done have floored me but I don’t think I’ve had to listen to as much shittiness as you hun, I’m so sorry. Xx

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    1. Oh Courtney. I’m so sorry. That was a very awful, insensitive thing to say. And I can imagine it hurt even worse coming from someone who’s supposed to be one of your biggest sources of comfort and support. Sending you so many hugs and wishes for a better 2016. xoxo

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  3. One ‘favorite’ of mine came from the mouth of the MIL of a new loss mom after only 2 weeks – “when are you going to be over this?” She could easily have gone on to say “your grief is a real burden to me” because that’s what was really going on.

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    1. Shauna, that is so incredibly awful. And after only two weeks? I always say, if people are uncomfortable with my grief now, how will they feel about it in five years? In ten years? I’m sure it will continue to change form, but it will always be there… Gosh, I am really sorry to that person who had to hear that, especially from an unexpected source.

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  4. Whoa.
    I wonder if I will ever stopped being amazed at the stupidity of some people. I am sorry that you have encountered such hurtful ignorance.

    Wishing you and Mark a peaceful 2016.
    May it be a year filled with small steps of continued healing, giant steps of honoring Matthew, and scattered with quiet moments of joy.

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    1. Yes, whoa is right! I believe people will never cease to amaze me. At least people also amaze me in very good ways as well. If it weren’t for that, I’d have lost all faith in humanity already. Thanks so much for your sweet well wishes. And wishing you a happy and peaceful 2016 as well.

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  5. Good grief you really have had some of the worst comments said to you, I am so sorry people are such asshats. I stopped counting how many people told me things like “well you can always try for another” or “God must have needed her more then you”. So gross. The one that bothers me the most was a message on one of those cheery holiday family picture cards that one of my cousins sent saying “hope you and Mark are all better now”, it was seriously a WTF moment and then the card along with her precious happy family pictures went into the trash.

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    1. I have had some real winners for sure. And I’m so sorry you’ve been subjected to some awful ones as well (though seems we all are). Especially to your cousin’s. “Hope you and Mark are all better now?” Whaaaaat?!?! That is terrible. I would have a really hard time ever speaking to her again 😦 And she has kids? If one of hers died would she be “all better now?”

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  6. I look forward to, read, and love everything you write! This was another great post. I’m continually shocked by the things people say! I remember getting a fb message from an aquaintance right after Maddy died that said “I feel like being a new dad (my wife recently delivered our baby girl!), I can understand a little bit of what you are going through. I love her so much, and couldn’t imagine if something had happened to her”…….I was so pissed. Really?! Being a new dad, enjoying the bliss of your perfect living child helps you understand what it feels like to leave the hospital with empty arms aching for the child you will never see or hold ever.again?! Shut your mouth. I know (most people) mean well, but seriously….hoping 2016 is a great year for you!!

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    1. Thank you so much for continuing to read and for commenting. Isn’t it just shocking? Can’t believe that facebook message. People are so ignorant. If they’re so much at a loss for words, they need to just consider saying, “I’m sorry,” and just leave it at that. I’m hoping 2016 is a great year for you as well. We need to get together soon. xoxo, Christine ❤ ❤ ❤

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  7. Wow, those are pretty shitty. Unfortunately, not uncommon in our community. Maybe you should print this post out and turn it into a pamphlet that you can distribute at doctor’s offices and L&D floors.

    Liked by 2 people

  8. Ok, the family tree thing made my jaw drop. What an ignorant comment. People are idiots. I’ve had some pretty insensitive comments made to me too, but this list is just insane. Here’s to hoping for less ignorance in 2016, for all of us!

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    1. The family tree comment caught my attention too. I do genealogy as a hobby and I have been appalled at the number of stillborn babies back through the ages in our family tree. I don’t think it’s hereditary – just the lack of access to care for most of them. But it infuriates me that in spite of the medical advancements available today, we aren’t using the technology fully to save babies with silent risks.

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  9. Damn! People can be such assholes. It is so very hurtful when family says stuff, which I’ve had my fair share of as well.

    The shittiest on my list have got to be the one from a distant FB friend within weeks of my Leona’s death. We were pregnant at the same time apparently. She wanted to know “how I [was] doing post partum”. Then proceeded to tell me how she was finding mothering her daughter “just so hard” because her DOG was jealous of the baby. Then she even had the audacity to offer me her dog so it would get the attention it “deserved”. I was like HO-LY SHIT. Did you just ask me that? Bah

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  10. I’m sorry you had to hear any of those. It’s a cliché to describe something as breath taking but I did stop breathing when reading some of those comments.

    I’ve heard a few dumb ones but the one that sticks with me was from close family on hearing we planned on celebrating our boys’ birthday each year so our ‘rainbow’ daughter would grow up knowing she had two brothers:

    “I don’t think you should be shoving the boys down her throat”

    Honourable mention goes to the person who used the Don’t Tell Me poem as a template to tell me why it (and by extension me) was wrong about grief.

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    1. Thank, Cath! Yes, too bad so many morons – at least it made for this crazy list which, sadly, most are able to commiserate about on some level. It sucks, but some of the comments are so idiotic, I try to find amusement in them rather than cry (sad how quickly I’ve almost become desensitized to such hurtful things – nothing surprises me anymore).

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  11. Brilliant! It sounds almost too hard to believe all written down together but I’m sure most of us have had similar! The annoying thing is that probably everyone was well meaning but just so incredibly clueless. It just reinforces how little people understand and know how to respond to infant loss. My most hurtful comment was from my dad who said the classic “It wasn’t meant to be” – despite having seen my 7lb2 baby girl who was perfectly healthy until the placenta suddenly stopped working a few days before her due date! He still aggravates me by insisting it was fate that she died. Aagh!!! Deep breaths required!

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    1. Yes, many people are well-meaning but just oh-so clueless. Sometimes I can forgive, and other times, if the comment is too awful, I can’t as much. I’m so sorry your dad says that – how hurtful and so not true. It hurts extra when these types of comments come from family members. Hugs to you.

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  12. Oh my… There are some doozies here and in all the comments too. No wonder it’s so hard to be out in public for us BLMs. I stayed in my “fortress of solitude” for a long time and still have a tough time being social, even though I used to be an extrovert (I don’t think I am anymore).

    I wrote about this on my blog but I spent 30 minutes speaking to a woman all about Lydie… And this woman is an RN who also teaches labor & delivery courses at her local college. And then she said “everything happens for a reason.” Whaaat? I was a few glasses of wine in at that point so I responded “you wouldn’t believe that if your child’s urn was on your mantle.”

    Another was a coworker who told me about a scare they had with their daughter but “thank God she was okay.” Oh yes, thank God. No go fuck yourself.

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    1. Yes – some doozies for sure. It is sooooo hard to be out in public. These comments come at you like bullets. Funny you call it your “fortress of solitude”. I call it my “impenetrable fortress” or “circle of trust”. I was also once way more outgoing than I am now. It’s sucks and is so sad. I wonder if I’ll always be like this? I’m so sorry you had to deal with similar hurtful comments. I like the way you responded to the RN. xoxo

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  13. Dear Christine,

    I have been reading your blog for, well…. days… I don’t count them since “living” every day is so hard, on the moments unbearable …I tried to write something, but the pain is still so intense and every time I started writing ended with so much tears.
    This evening I will try again. I have so much to share. But its hard to catch all that is going through my mind right now. And put it in word so good like you can.
    I am from Croatia,Europe,.. thousands miles from you… and yet I still feel that we are so close. Unfortunnatelly, considering the reason.
    My precious daughter Marla died on the December 13th. I was 31 weeks pregnant. I had the perfect pregnancy and she was a perfect, healthy baby. From her first kick I called her my little fighter and we joked that probably she will be an athlete. I was so proud, or should I said on the moments even vain, about how everything was ok, I was very active, working, doing the prenatal pilates, had a beautiful round belly, glowing, waiting for her… perfect and happy.
    And than one second and three words changed my life. Changed me. Forever.
    It was Sunday and we had an unussual start of the day by getting up quickly. Actually I didn’t notice anything strange since my husband had to go to pick some furniture to IKEA (and was very much pissed about that). I wasn’t worried. Marla will surly give me a kick. Because she did. Every day. What could possibly go wrong except my husband getting the wrong peace of furniture.
    But everything got wrong. I got some strange contractions, even though two days earlier my OB said everything was ok and that contractions are normal al this stage of pregnancy. And than it striked me that Marla didn’t say hi today … or that I can’t recall she did. I still wasn’t panicking. Babies sleep. So I layed on my left side, which she didn’t like. Nothing. Drank some cold water. Nothing. Ate some sweets. Nothing. I got this strange feeling. Not panic. But knew something wasn’t right. At that time V (husband) came and I said we need to go to the hospital. He sad I was probably panicking, but ok. I wanted to turn off tv and heating and he said don’t need to – will be back in no time. We didn’t.
    Nurse at the reception asked what was the problem – I said I feel slight contractions but I can’t feel the baby. She rolled her eyes (ok, in her mind but it was obvious) and said that the baby is probably sleeping.
    The nurse in the department put me on CTG (please excuse that I don’t now the right medical expressions in english). Couldn’t hear anything. Except my heartbeats. She called the resident. Knew something was so so wrong. But there is hope, right?! The resident dr called the senior dr and they put me on the ultrasound. He looked, and searched…
    And than there was that damn second and those three words: I am sorry. And no word will ever be right to describe that feeling.That moment. Ever.
    Marla was still born after 48 hours. December the 15th. Doctors insisted on natural birth, trying to induce the labours. I can’t remember much of those 48 hours except desperately waiting for the miracle. And her kick.
    She was perfectly healthy baby girl and she died due to the umbilical cord torsion… or how the doctors said accident. I hate that word. Accident. It just happens they said. How can that just happen? Accident? Like a car crash? How can our babies just – die? Because it happens. How?? Why?
    Tomorrow will be three weeks. I don’t think I live. I survive. Somehow. And actually I feel so alone in this grief. Tried to search for an answers… will I ever find them?

    Googled the croatian sites – umbilical cord torsion – but no match was found. So I googled further. Found about Dr Collins, somehow I found you Christine.

    Your posts, your words, your story … I cried reading everything you wrote, I deeply felt every word you said and as strange as it may seem found some comfort.( I even smiled reading about selfie sticks in NY. ) Yes, from someone who I have never seen, ever met, ever talked. I admire your strength to continue to cherish and honour the memories of your precious Matthew. I feel so truly sorry about your loss, the sorry only a bereaved parent can understand.

    I can also relate to this post about shittiest thing people say. Or shittiest …people. Sorry, but Im in my anger stage.

    Two days ago I got a notification on my email (everything I kept from communication) about your new post and read it instantly. For the last three weeks I wasn’t able to communicate with anyone. Only a few closest family and friends. Somehow I ignored them saying: “time will heal, there will be other child, you’ll get over it as the time passes…. ” and some other sh… well you now the word. I forgave them as I knew they don’t know better. But than not a half an hour after I read this post my husband got an invitation from our “friends” (actually more of his than mine, but anyway) that we can come to the NYE celebration, nothing much – they said, some wine, some friends and people hanging out. Celebration??? We buried our child two weeks ago and they invite us for a celebration. I was sooooo angry…. I crashed at that moment how people can be such idiots, insensitive jerks. Anger was not the right word at that time. This was the price winning award for an Idiot.
    So I thought that was the worst. Than one of my best friend, or should I say ex now, texted me today to wish me all the best, saying how happines will come eventually and blah, blah… and at the end she “mentioned” how she feels so nostalgic because today her daughter got her first tooth and how time flies so quickly…. well, guess what my dear friend. Thank you for sharing, but you know my daughter didn’t got that chance.

    I am sorry for this long comment, its very hard to talk to anyone around me about this grief, about Marla… mostly I feel very alone in this, everyone is trying to “protect” me by not mentioning her…. and all I need is her to live in my memory. And she will. Forever.

    I am happy that I found this blog and you, Christine.

    I wish us all to melt down the anger, to have pure souls and loving hearts in the 2016, as that will be the true honour to our precious angels.

    Love from Croatia,
    Maya

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    1. Dear Maya,

      I’ve been thinking about you a lot ever since I read your message.

      Words cannot express how very sorry I am for your loss of your precious Marla (what a beautiful name). It is just simply devastating. Reading your words reminds me so much of my experience and my last day with Matthew – a Sunday, noticed I didn’t feel movement, went through that excruciating process of lying on my left, drank cold water, juice, started to feel the desperation that comes with this, reached that moment that changes your world forever… I am just so sorry you’ve joined this club. And, yes, it seems so wrong, and it’s so heart wrenching – that our healthy babies were taken in an instant from “cord accidents”. Sometimes I still can’t wrap my head around it. It’s awful.

      I’m also so sorry you’ve already been subjected to so much insensitivity so soon. I wish I could say I’m surprised, but, unfortunately many people don’t seem to understand child loss. It sucks so much, when all you want is to be understood and for people to remember Marla. I too would have been so angry at the notion of being invited to a “celebration” so soon. And I’m sorry you had to listen to a friend tell you about her baby – so terribly insensitive when you’re so fresh from losing Marla. It’s like a knife to the heart hearing such things. Hopefully, there are people near you offering support to offset some of this insensitivity, though that doesn’t take away the pain of it, obviously.

      I remember the earliest days (where you are now). It wasn’t that long ago (~6 months), but it seems like yesterday and a lifetime ago, all at the same time. The earliest days were so crippling. I didn’t think I would live – I expected something to just take me in the night. It hurt so bad to breathe, like someone was stepping on my chest every single minute of every day. I cried for hours on end each day. Somehow, six months later, as painful as it’s been, I’m here. And I’m not sure how. And, it’s still really painful, and, the scary thing is, 6 months is a mere blip in a potentially long lifetime spent missing Matthew. But I’m here. And, though some days are almost as bad as in the beginning, it is a little easier to breathe. The waves of grief are a bit further apart than they were in the beginning, when it was just one big wave. I can function a little better. I can smile here and there (which still seems impossible). And I have the same hope (and confidence) for you.

      I’m sending you love and light and strength needed to get through these dark, most difficult days ahead – the strength to simply put one foot in front of the other, thousands of times, until you can catch your breath just a bit more.

      I’m so sorry we’ve met under these circumstances, but, since our circumstances cannot be changed, I’m so thankful we’ve connected. Feel free to contact me again absolutely any time (in the comments or via email – chickydoodles2230@gmail.com). I’ve found much support online, and I hope you do too, in addition to having already found me. As terrible as this club is, there are some amazing members, ready to help support you through a very difficult journey.

      Thinking of you and Marla all the time. xoxo,

      Christine

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  14. Christine, I love the brutal honesty in your posts. We’ve heard our fair share of ridiculous and insensitive comments. One of the worst had to be in a message I received, and I quote: “Our family is going through something ALMOST as bad as this”. Come to find out, the “something” was a parent cheating on the other, and a potential divorce. Really?!? On what planet does that even remotely compare to your baby dying?! And they brought it up in two conversations! Good thing it wasn’t said to me in person or I don’t know what I would have done.

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    1. Sara, Thank you for your kind words. I’m so sorry for your loss and that you’ve heard so many terrible ones. This comparison is asinine! I read it out loud to my husband – he about died! People are just CRAZY. That person is probably lucky he/she didn’t say it to you in person (though, usually, in my case, people get away with things in person, b/c I’m too busy picking my jaw up off the ground). xoxo

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  15. Oh man I can’t believe these comments! They really do suck! I guess some people are either inherently stupid, don’t know how to respond with such tragic news or have very little capacity for empathy. Whatever the reason, I’m really sorry that you had to be on the receiving end of any of these let alone all of them! I’m new to your blogs but I’m already hooked, working my way through them now. I’m really really sorry to hear about your loss, it’s just the most heart-breaking thing. x

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  16. It’s truly surprises me how insensitive and clueless people can be. So much of this list hits home for me which just validates to me that stupid people are everywhere! My MIL texted me two weeks after our baby was born stillborn at full term about some geeky guy on tv she thought was “hot” and that she should get out more…she hadn’t called me or texted me and I had not seen her since the memorial service. I was speechless. I guess life went on for her rather quickly!

    I also have been told by a few people on Instagram about their terrifying births that ENDED IN A LIVING BABY. Seriously?

    My favorite christmas card this year was from my husbands side – his sisters mother in law. They recently had two grandchildren (one which is my niece). They put a paragraph about how 2015 was another great year for their family and life is just great. (Dagger in my heart) Also since the other baby wasn’t born until after the Christmas card was made, they included a 2×2 of the newborn with the card. Special. What’s sad is they knew about our loss but chose to highlight the upcoming birth of a baby (presumptuous!) and include a separate photo. I suppose they expect me to put that on my fridge.

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  17. I’ve kept my circle pretty small, but I still have a few personal doozies:

    – “How’s the baby?” – said happily by a nurse at my first post natal follow-up, about a week after my firstborn died, and while my secondborn was still fighting in the NICU for her life that would be lost a few weeks later. That cruel question could have been avoided if she had just looked at the dang chart in her hand.

    – “How’s the little one?” – said by the hospital staffer at the NICU desk when we came back Christmas day, about 2.5 months after losing our firstborn and 6 weeks after losing our secondborn. We were bringing care baskets for families currently in the NICU & PICU (trying to do something positive to fight the awful darkness of our tragedy), and we had been by our daughters’ sides so much during their brief lives, so the lady recognized us, but not well enough I guess. I said actually we had two girls, and both passed. She said she thought one had gone home with us. Nope.

    I’m trying to return to work more soon, and I dread the kinds of insensitive comments I may hear…

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    1. So sorry I missed responding to this comment before. I’m so very sorry for your losses. Unfair and devastating doesn’t even begin to describe it. Sounds like some nurses need to be educated on how to look at the damn charts. How excruciatingly awful, and I’m so sorry you had to deal with this.

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  18. I guess the phrase “Think before you speak.” has obviously escaped many. I can tell you that I sure like to process my words before I say them a lot more, and even more now after reading this. I’m so sorry that people have been so insensitive and often downright unkind. I’m ever thankful to know that you have such an amazing support system and I love that you’ve found blogging to left off steam in a healthy manner, which seems to also benefit others that can, in fact, relate. You’re one of the strongest women I know and I’m thankful to call you “friend”! ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  19. Thank you for this! The *almost* died ones really get me… I can’t believe what people come out with.. I’ve been told that “at least my baby wasn’t conscious in there, it’s not like he was actually aware of anything”. Also the Dental receptionist leant forward with a weird grin and whispered “So, like, did you actually have to give birth to it?”… I still can’t believe she actually said this..

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, *almost* died… My fave… Like, yeah, that must have been so scary for you… Wow @ the “at least he wasn’t conscious” one. Some people… My most recent one was, “Well, maybe it was better that he died, because he’d been injured.” Yeah, like only a few fucking hours before his death!!! And your dental receptionist sounds just creepy, like sociopathic almost. I’m so sorry you can relate so strongly to this. Sadly, I think all of us baby loss parents can. It makes it so much harder to function in society when we have to hear things like this, it seems, on a semi-regular basis. I’m so sorry for your loss. xoxo

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  20. It’s so cathartic to read this, thank you. I’ve had lots along the lines of ‘at least you know you can get pregnant’ (yep, with IVF, and really no guarantees of it working again, want to try and and empathise with that too?) But I think the worst was from a good friend of my mum’s, who had been at Ryan’s memorial just before Christmas. I bumped into her after Christmas and politely asked how it was, not that I was that interested. She said ‘oh just lovely, we spent it with a family with a newborn and it was just great to be with them for baby’s first Christmas! How was yours?’ (Em, what is the exact opposite of that?) How hard would it be just to say ‘great thanks’ and then shut up?

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  21. All of us–all of us–have been on the receiving end of some of the most wretched statements ever made, intentionally or not. I could definitely contribute to your list, but the most crushing, the most devastating was a comment left under a FB post I had written, made by an acquaintance a week or two after my Juliette died nearly seven months ago: “I’m so jealous she gets to sit in the lap of the King!” I remember thinking, “Easy for you to say, since God hasn’t taken one of yours!” Shortly afterward, I unfriended her.

    Then, the unthinkable happened.

    Two weeks ago this Thurs. morning, after a night of poor sleep/crying/begging God to NEVER allow ANYONE I know to lose a child, I awoke to a FB message from this acquaintance stating that she and her husband were about to take their soon-to-be three month old off of life-support after having found her without a heartbeat in her crib just days before…

    They’re beautiful, perfect, precious baby girl has died and they are now living the life sentence of grief and trauma, too–THAT’S what makes her comment the worst statement made to me.

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    1. Whoa!! I’ve not even known how to respond to this, mama. “So jealous?” I think that is a new one for me – don’t think I’ve ever heard it. How incredibly insensitive and asinine. I’m so sorry you were on the receiving end of this. I would’ve unfriended her too.

      And then this same person lost her child two weeks ago? How incredibly devastating. I’m so very sorry for her loss too. I’m sure she’s rethinking comments such as these during these darkest of days…

      My thoughts and prayers are with both you and her (even though she made this God-awful comment). You’re especially on my heart today with this being the 13th. Sending huge hugs. xoxo

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  22. Dear Christine

    Love your blog. I too lost my baby Laura to a cord accident at almost 36 weeks. I gave birth to her October 10 2014, one day before i turned 40. A few months later i got pregnant again but i lost that baby (a boy) too at 16 weeks. The autopsy revealed the baby was healthy but the cord was too tight around him and that was the cause of his death. I still cant believe bad luck hit me twice.

    I feel defeated, I dont go to places i went when i was pregnant, i dont talk about my losses with anyone, not even with my husband that just dont feel the need to talk about it. Sometimes it seems that i never got pregnant, and nothing bad happened, except that i have a constant pain in my chest. And feel so ashamed, i know its stupid, but i feel so ashamed that i lost my babies. And still so guilty that i didnt insisted enough with the doctors, so i could save my Laura.

    I also heard so many shitty things, from family too, Having turned 41, i also have to deal with the age factor. Ah sure your age didnt help. Damn. Im healthy, my babies were healthy.

    I have a 18 year old daughter, and i sure would like to have one more baby but once tragedy hits you twice its so hard to be optimistic…

    Thank you for letting me feel less isolated. And for making me laugh! Love to read you and the other loss mothers too.

    Love
    Ângela

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    1. Hi Angela, First of all, I’m so very sorry for your loss of your precious daughter, Laura as well as for your loss of your son. How absolutely devastating and brutally unfair. It’s just the worst. And then, to try to hope for anything again after one loss, let alone two… I can imagine how it must feel so dark and hopeless. I often feel betrayed by the universe – it seems like we all should be guaranteed easy roads after going through such hell, and even though I know this isn’t how it works, I find myself shocked and angry every time I think about this reality…

      I can relate to all you say about feeling defeated. Grief takes it out of you. I find myself just exhausted from life so much more frequently now. Although neither of us have any reason to be ashamed, I totally related to you on this too. I too continue to struggle with my feelings of shame, and I’m not even sure why…

      I’m sorry you’ve heard so many shitty things. It’s especially difficult hearing them from family. It feels like such a pile on – this road is difficult enough without hearing shitty things.

      And thank you for your kind words. I’m glad you’ve found comfort and laughter here though so sorry again for your losses that bring you here. I too feel so isolated, be we aren’t alone – you are not alone, sweet mama. Feel free to reach out again anytime. Thinking of you and Laura and your sweet son, sending you love and light. xoxo

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  23. I’m so sorry for all these things people have said to you.

    3 months after loosing my daughter Luna last year, I started a new job and upon telling my new manager (which was very hard) about my situation…her reply was ‘well you know, everything happens for a reason and now it means your here with this great new job working with great new people’…yes because a new job is so worth your child dyeing. WHAT!?!!!! and she has children.

    Xx

    Liked by 1 person

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