Pretending a life

It happened again yesterday.

We went out for dinner to one of our favourite Thai restaurants here in Amsterdam. They do yummy, yummy food. I've been going there for about 8 years (except for the two years I was in Australia). They always remember me and ask how I'm doing. Yesterday was no exception.

I hadn't been there since before Kees died. They knew about Kees. We'd been there for the last time about a month or so before he was born. So last night of course they asked, "How is the baby?" And then I have the usual conversation. "He is bad ... it is very bad". Then there's confusion, until I clarify that our baby died. They ask whether we have moved out of the area because we hadn't been for so long and I explained that after our son died, we really just stayed at home.

Then came the usual "Oh, have you heard about X?" X is an ex-colleague who used to live above the Thai restaurant. That's how I ended up going to this restaurant. X and I used to be good friends and visited that restaurant together many times. He's since moved up in the world, become a partner in the firm I used to work for and has a 'significant other' with whom he's had multiple babies (who all live). Yesterday was no exception. I had previously heard on the grapevine that his significant other was pregnant again, and (sure enough) the lovely people at the Thai restaurant told me that they'd had their third, a little girl. First two boys and then a little girl.

I hate hearing stories like that.

It's not that I'm jealous. Although I am a bit. It's not that I'm envious. Although I am a bit of that too. It's just that every time I hear that I think "why me?" Why do I lose all my babies? Why can't I be like them????

This morning (just a few minutes ago, when it was 4.14 am - we wake up at odd hours) my husband said, "they didn't even send us a birth card". It's the custom in this country to announce the birth of a new baby by sending a birth card to every person you know - we did it with Kees. But he's right - we didn't get a birth card. They sent us a birth card for their first two, but not for this one. That's significant I think. It means we don't rate on their birth list or probably their Christmas list any more. We're not "friends" any more.

It's been nearly three years since we lost Freyja on that awful day. And just over a year since we buried Kees. That's a long time. And in that time we've lost a lot of friends. In fact most of our pre-Freyja friends are gone. The ones that hung on after Freyja died, have pretty much drifted away since Kees left. Because they don't know what to say and they don't know what to do, and in the end it's easier for them to just let us go.

It must be fairly easy for them to do this. Because they've pretty much all done it. It's like they've been waiting too long for me to "recover" and they want to get on with their lives and I don't really "fit" in it any more. They don't understand what it's like to lose a child and they don't understand that I'll never "recover" to the extent that they expect. They don't understand that I will wake up every day for the rest of my life thinking of my children, and that my last thoughts in the evening will be of them ... for the rest of my life. They don't understand.

I do understand. I understand about them. I've been watching them drift away from me for nearly three years. And I know how I could have prevented it ... the drifting away. I should have stopped being honest ... I should have pretended.

Being honest about your feelings is highly over rated. The fact of the matter is that noone really wants to know how you feel. If you have a handful of people who really care about how you're doing, then you're pretty fortunate. If you have one person who cares above everything about how you're doing then you're amongst the most fortunate in the world. I have Craig - thank goodness.

But yes ... I should have pretended. And I did for a while. After all, most of us are brought up to ensure that we're considerate of others, that we shouldn't show our burdens to the world, you know, that sort of stuff. So after Freyja died, and once I was able to get my feelings under "control" again, I mostly reverted to the Mirne I used to be. And that was acceptable to mostly everyone. I was reassured that I could try again, it was probably for the best, at least I had my health, the usual meaningless plattitudes.

People seemed to be generally reassured that I would be OK. Not that I was --- as if I could be OK again.

But then Kees came along and also died.

And then I really lost it.

The "OK-ness" in me was very much based on hope. Hope that even though I'd lost Freyja, I would be able to have another child. Not one who would replace Freyja (because that can never happen), but a child who would let me be his mother.

And after Kees died, all the pretense died with him. I couldn't pretend any more. I was so sad that I couldn't pretend that I was OK. Because I wasn't OK. And I was so ANGRY that I couldn't pretend I was OK. Because I was far from OK. I couldn't function as me any more, because I wasn't really me any more. I couldn't make inane small talk with friends because it was inane and unimportant. I couldn't do so much of anything really. I fell completely apart. I had a complete breakdown.

The Mirne that was me got lost, and I think some of her is gone forever.

So I understand all those people, those friends, who drifted away. They don't know this Mirne any more. They don't know what to say to this Mirne. They don't know what to do with this Mirne. See my life might have stopped, and fallen to bits, and just generally gone to shit, but theirs has continued. They've just continued with their lives ... they've gotten married and had babies and had babies and had more babies. I've also had babies, but mine died. Doesn't really make for good conversation. It makes them feel awkward. And really, they don't want that. Life's too short for all that. So they've left and their lives are now no longer part of mine.

A few days ago I woke up thinking that I really should give the pretense another go. That I should throw myself into it. Really, really into it. Like immerse myself in a pretend life where all those awful things haven't happened. Pretend that the last three years haven't happened. And for a short while (very short ... only a matter of minutes really) I thought that if I could do that, everything would go back to the way it was. But the illusion didn't last. Of course it won't. It wouldn't change anything. It would probably only spiral me into another breakdown even faster than last time.

:::::

We have some guests staying with us at the moment. Some of my husband's young relatives from Australia. Just for a couple of days.

They know about our babies. They've seen the beautiful photos of Kees hanging on the walls in our house. They've seen the names of our children spelled out in colourful wooden letters hanging on the wall above our lounge room door.

And yet they say nothing.

NOTHING.

Because, you see, they're part of that conspiracy. That conspiracy of friends and relatives. That conspiracy where they pretend that nothing has changed. That conspiracy where they think that if they pretend long enough, it will be so.

If only that was the case.