A Rainbow is a Poor Substitute

I’ve written several blogs on what (not) to say to a grieving parent, but as my years of experience in this role grow, so does my patience dwindle.  First, let me say that I always assume that people don’t have any idea what to say, and if they say the wrong thing it is probably not intentional.  But there is one ‘compliment’ that I get from time to time that just irritates the heck out of me.  I can deal with the obviously ignorant comments like “she is in a better place” or “everything happens for a reason” or even “it is good that you have moved on with your life.”  I just figure the person is ignorant, and blessed to be ignorant, of what I am oh so knowledgeable of.

First though, let’s take a step back in time.  I remember when my children were very young and I was in the Air Force, working every day and leaving my children at day care.  It seemed like every single stay-at-home mother I knew complained about people making comments about their ‘not working’ or ‘how nice it was they didn’t have to work’ and we all wisely nodded our heads and said comforting things about how being a stay-at-home mom was a full time job.  But those same women, almost without exception, said to me at one point or another, “I admire you for being able to juggle both a job and family (or something along those lines)” and immediately followed that with “I just couldn’t bring myself to go back to work after Junior was born.”

Does anyone else see the backhanded compliment in that?  Perhaps it was intended as a genuine compliment, and the speaker was just too wrapped up in herself to hear the implication of the statement.  Perhaps I am oversensitive and hear an implication that wasn’t present.  But my ears heard “I am a better mother than you.  I love my children more than you love yours.  If you truly loved your children, you wouldn’t have been able to bear it either.”  And I always wanted to respond (and sometimes I did), with, well, it wasn’t like I had much choice.  I wasn’t independently wealthy or married to someone who could single-handedly support our family in the way we wanted our children to live (read 'not on food-stamps').  I see now that those women must have felt some kind of insecurity in their own status in the world, and were taking it out in a passive-aggressive way whether they realized it or not. 

My new pet peeve is also delivered almost exclusively by other mothers.  It too, starts out as a compliment.  Something along the lines of “I’m really impressed with your strength” or “you have done such a great job of dealing with everything” and then is immediately followed up with “I just don’t think I could go on if something happened to Junior.”  Do you see the parallel here?  I try not to judge, but I have trouble believing that they can’t see the insensitivity of that statement.  My ears hear exactly the same thing they heard all those years ago when I had to let other people take care of my children to put food on the table, "I love my child more".

I have to remind myself that they don’t know what they don’t know and they are blessed to remain ignorant.  What they don’t know is that I wasn’t given any choice in the matter at the time and I’m not given any choice in the matter now.  What they don’t know is that to get through any given day I have to force thoughts of my daughter to the back of my mind so I can function.  They don’t know that coping, by forcing thoughts of my child away, incites incredible feelings of guilt.  They don’t know that I can only force her to the back of my thoughts for so long before it (my grief) will find its way back out and knock me off my feet, sometimes for days at a time.  They don’t know that I don’t sleep at night and don’t function very well during the day.  They don’t know about nightmares, night sweats, and panic attacks.  They don’t know that every time they see me, I am putting on the “I’m Okay” show…I’m pretty good at it.  They don’t know that everything I do is twice as hard as it used to be; that life’s every little frustration is a huge hurdle for me; that every petty meanness that is thrown at me, even a rude driver, rubs against my skin like sandpaper; that every joy, every beauty, every moment of fun, is colored with sadness.  They don't know that for all of my positive posts about rainbows and miracles, that a rainbow is a poor substitute for a daughter.  They don’t know that not 'going on' isn’t an option.

They don’t know what they don’t know; and I honestly hope they never have to know.