We have had the fortunate experience of meeting some new friends through very unfortunate circumstances. This couple that we found through the magic of story sharing over blogs went through a very similar experience with their son – Brice – that we did at about the same time. We’ve never met them in person, but due to shared experience there is a deep sense of understanding. Brice’s mother recently shared this poem that I thought was pretty spot-on.

Go ahead and mention my child,
The one that died, you know.
Don’t worry about hurting me further.
The depth of my pain doesn’t show.
Don’t worry about making me cry.
I’m already crying inside.
Help me to heal by releasing the tears that I try to hide.
I’m hurt when you just keep silent, pretending he didn’t exist.
I’d rather you mention my child,
Knowing that he has been missed.
You asked me how I was doing,
I say “pretty good” or “fine.”
But healing is something ongoing.
I feel it will take a lifetime.
–By Elizabeth Dent

I’m of the opinion that there is an upside down bell curve as it relates to the number of people – and therefore questions – that we are facing whom don’t know our story. It goes something like this: as we were in the hospital and immediately afterwards, we were only surrounded by close friends/family and our story was only shared through face-to-face conversation or this blog…essentially everyone that we dealt with knew what was going on. As the days went by and we were forced back into life, we started to go to more publicly exposed places (ie: parks, grocery store, work, etc) and ran into a few people that we loosely knew through various past ventures that didn’t know what had happened; and even a few of them knew that we were expecting, but didn’t know the outcome. So we started to have to have uncomfortable, somewhat superficial conversations with people that we rarely see…because we just aren’t going to lie about it. And deflating someone’s day with such sad news isn’t a fun thing to do.

As a little more time has passed, it seems like we have now run into just about everyone that we are going to see on a regular basis, hold a few exceptions. Most notably are family members that know the story, but we just haven’t seen in person yet due to distance. These are encounters that we are just going to have to deal with as they come – but they are anticipated. The other notable exception is people that are so loosely affiliated with us that they know us by circumstance, but don’t know anything about us….like the person that gives me a haircut, amongst others (side note because I know a few of you are already thinking it: yes, I go and get my head shaved somewhere and yes, I could do it at home….but there is a business here in town that is a tremendous supporter of the fire department, so I decide to support them).

As I sat in the chair yesterday morning, the usual simple banter started….How are you doing today? (PS – when you answer this questions even remotely honestly – ‘ok’ – you get several follow up questions of disbelief and attempted resolution) Are you sure your just ok? What are you up to today? Don’t have to be at work?….then the inevitable begins, and it goes down a road that you just can’t stop no matter how hard you are pulling on the brakes….You have a kid right? How old is he? Does he have any brothers/sisters? Are you going to have anymore?

These are all innocent enough questions, and assuredly safe enough to ask 99% of the time. But being in our shoes on this end of the question, it’s a tough spot to be in. Due to the extent of relationship (or lack thereof) and what was mentioned earlier about not having a lot of fun ruining someone’s day, I have now come to a place where I answer them as bluntly and simply as possible. How many kids do you have? One. Are you going to have anymore? I don’t know. No drawn out tales of the past several months. No in depth explanation why I am ‘only ok.’ Tears and stomach butterflies being repressed with all available resources.

The difficulty is that we don’t know when or where they are going to come from. Going out to get a simple 10 minute haircut and tripping into a world of emotion is stomach churning each time. Of course neither of us hold anything against anyone who asks these questions to us….to start, they care enough to even ask. We both know that we are likely going to encounter these types of conversations for a long while to come, and some variant of these conversations for the rest of our lives. I suppose that on some level, they are forcing us to confront what has happened in a visible way…and they are forcing us to think about Liam – which no matter how difficult it may be, isn’t bad at all.

Yea, that’s actually what it says: it’s too easy…and herein lies the rub.

It’s been two months, as of today, since we last held Liam; and that hurts a lot. Two months ago we sat at the hospital and had our lives irreversibly changed in a way that we didn’t want them to be changed. We left the hospital with a feeling of sadness and loss that has only gotten more intense, and we haven’t been back. There are moments, even hours, that go by and Liam isn’t at the forefront of each and every thought; and we hate that. And the normal activities in our day-to-day lives are all to simple and easy. And it’s in that simplicity that we are constantly reminded of what we don’t have.

Take yesterday for example…just like any other randomly selected day in our current lives. We woke, made some breakfast, and watched a little TV. We decided that we would go for a walk/run and loaded the car – with a stroller for one. After that, I went and ran a few errands by myself and Ahna and Ezra played outside before heading to the grocery store. All of that done without worry or concern for a baby’s feeding and napping schedule. In the evening we went down to my parent’s house for Passover Seder, and enjoyed a wonderful meal well into the evening without a glimmer of a crying or needy baby in sight. Trust me when I tell you that’s its just has hard to write this down as it is to live it. It shouldn’t be this simple. It really sucks.

It’s a heavy-hearted day. We miss Liam.

I’m not sure that there is any way to ever get around the fact that it’s just always there. It doesn’t take much encouragement to get it to bubble over and become evident to all; and it doesn’t always have a timeline as to how long it wants to stay above everything else. What is it? It’s the sadness, the sickness, the stomach turning, the emptiness, the questions, the lost hopes, and the wanted expectations.

As Ahna and I both conclude our first full and complete weeks back to work, I think that we can both attest to the idea that even over the course of just a few days, being there has gotten a little easier – whatever that means. Easier isn’t the right word to describe it, but there really isn’t another word that works as well. As the days go by at work, it’s a lot like loosing that sense of newness when you get that long awaited thing: it just becomes the normal instead of something that you are trying to figure out. But it’s always just below the surface.

Recently I was at work and sat through a lecture on thoracic anatomy and physiology and found myself struggling as I thought about Liam. There wasn’t any direct correlation, but as we are both discovering, it really doesn’t take a direct connection. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t take a connection at all….it just happens.  We walk around kind of propped up by life, but weighed down by experience and ready to burst at the seams at any random time and place. Containing it is a necessary evil at times, but we have been able to find the ability to express in each other our feelings when we need to the most. But it’s always just below the surface.