Sick of the questions

I know that people mean well when they ask me if I am ok, but I also know that when they ask that they don’t really want the real answer.  It used to slightly annoy me when I would walk through the halls at work and people would ask how I was doing and expected nothing more than, “great, thanks, and you?”  Now, however, it is a whole new level of annoyance.
Most everyone around me now knows that I have lost my son.  Most everyone around me also knows how much that little baby meant to me – how he was my entire world – and how much it rips me apart to know that I will never see him alive again.  So when I am asked the question, “how are you?” these days….it puts me into a little rage.  Here is what I want to say:
“Actually, person who probably has never lost a child, I feel like death.  I am a walking zombie who has completely lost her heart and soul.  I feel guilty that I couldn’t save his life.  I miss him and I want to be with him.  Honestly, I feel like joining him in the grave.  If the casket were big enough, I would get inside with him and seal it closed on top of us.  Does that satisfy your questions?”
That, however, is not what people want to hear.  They want me to say, “I am fine.  Thank you for asking.”  I am not going to say that though…because I am not fine and I will never be just fine.  I might get to the point where I can rejoin that game of “I’m fine, thank you” but for now I have no interest in playing along because I just don’t give a damn about protecting feelings right now.
Is there anything I can do to help?
The next question that is difficult is, “is there anything I can do to help?”  Now don’t get me wrong, I remember asking this myself when other people would experience loss around me.  I remember the awkward moments when someone was breaking down and not having a clue as to what to say.  I am not sure how to answer this question.  Do people want me to ask them to make me food?  Well that’s out, because I can’t eat anything.  Do they want me to ask them to dance or something?  I am at a complete loss.  Here is what I want to say:
“Well, person who has never lost a child, how powerful are you?  Do you have the power to reverse time?  Can you wake the dead?  If the answer is yes, then you can absolutely do something to help me – bring back my son.  If the answer is no, however, then please don’t ask me that again.  If you want to make food to make you feel better then by all means cook.  It isn’t going to help me, but if it makes you happy then maybe it will be nice.”
This all might sound incredibly insensitive, but I don’t care.  The love of my life and my reason for waking up each day is gone.  He isn’t going to come back no matter how much I pray and no matter how much people cook.

Comments

  1. stillhere... says:

    CappuccinoQueen,

    Maybe if you just replied, “I can’t answer that.” End of conversation. Your feelings are yours and if their feelings get hurt so be it. You don’t need to worry about their feelings at all. Not your problem right now. Once, my therapist said “Do you know saying nothing says a lot?”. No I didn’t know that. I wanted to share that with you in case it could help.

    CappiQ, nobody knows what it is to be you right now. We can only imagine. Even if a person who has lost a child due to an abuser while following the orders of an out of order legal system, cannot understand being you. Most people genuinely wish they could help and there will be those who just “need to know” rather than “care to know”. The “need to know” people aren’t worth worrying about and the “care to know” people will understand no matter what you do or say right now. They will give grace.

    CappiQ, Time is unpredictable and that goes for the good and the bad as you well know. I have suffered trauma of different sorts and I have suffered legal abuse while fighting to protect a child from a bad person. I still have no idea how you feel. I do know that when food tasted like cardboard after experiencing severe trauma and I chewed so I could swallow mindlessly to stay alive, it felt like more than I could do. I decided I would do this for one year. I waited for that one year to go by expecting nothing and giving myself permission to just exist. No expectations and no explanations. Low and behold somewhere in that year, food tasted like food again and I was sometimes hungry. All I know is I didn’t think I would survive but I did. After the year went by, I assessed my situation and things had gotten better in ways. Not fine. But better nevertheless.

    You are stronger than you know CappiQ. I hope you have people around you giving you strength. I also hope people around you realize you have no idea what you need and like you said, kindly, if they need to do something or it makes them feel better, they should do it and leave you be, knowing you are grieving and you don’t have ANY answers for ANYone about ANYthing.

    Be kind to yourself CappiQ.

    Big hugs…………

  2. Christine says:

    I read this yesterday but I just couldn’t think of the right words to respond. I did fall asleep praying for you though.

    I *think* (but how would I know?, I never lost a child), that what you may need most is for someone to just say, “I’m here to listen, not to ask questions.” I think when people are grieving (I’ve grieved many losses, but not the loss of a child) what I wanted most was for someone to just listen. Say nothing. Offer no suggestions. Ask no questions. Just listen.

    And I *think* (but again, I do not know because I have not lost a child) that you need people to “know” your little Prince. How precious he was. What was special about him. How he made this world a better place. That he won’t be forgotten.

    That’s part of the listening. I think you should talk about Prince to whomever will listen. If I was there I’d listen to you tell me everything from the moment you learned you were pregnant with your little guy, to every detail of his birth, to what he was like as a newborn, to when he started sleeping through the night, to what his first words were, his favorite toys, his little quirks. Everything. Because I know if god forbid I were to one of my children I’d want everyone to know how incredible that child was!

    I hope you have someone like that in your life. But if you don’t, those who read your blog are in a sense “listening” and your Father in Heaven is all ears. And He cares like no other and He not only listens, he understands perfectly.

    So pour your heart out, here, to someone who will listen, and to your Heavenly Father.

  3. stillhere says:

    Cappaccinoqueen,

    Sharing your most private journey through the depths of hell, helps us be able only to imagine a mothers grief. We cannot truley know or understand your grief, as you are trudging through such a nightmare. I admire your strength and the love that permeates through your words for Baby Boy, Prince.

    I am so sorry the legal system and/or family courts failed yet another mother and child. It should be mandated they follow the parents struggles after their rulings create or facilitate such a travesty of justice.

    You are courageous and I admire you.

    Christine,
    I have seen parents light up when speaking of loved ones taken too young from this Earth.

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