Martyrville

I wish I could say I was in Margaritaville for Easter, but I seem to have ended up in Martyrville.


Part of it is, I guess no one knows what to say.

I prepared myself for an outpouring of sympathy. Just in case. The strange image that kept coming to me was Illyria from Buffy - armored and distant. I just decided to pretend I wasn't human. I'm just a visitor here to your planet. No feelings at all. What is this strange thing you call sadness? That was the most drastic thing I could think of, to keep the grief at bay. Otherwise, it's like trying to plug the Hoover Dam with bubble gum... (and we're all out of bubble gum?) I knew I would just break down and flood the room with my mourning, and what good would that be for everyone, including me? So... I was prepared.

But from the time we arrived at our little Easter gathering, most of my family didn't even mention it. Not even my brother-in-law in his before dinner prayer, who almost always mentions something personal, even if it's just "keep us all safe on the journey home," etc. Yesterday's prayer was the shortest and most general I've ever heard him deliver.

I brought my pictures of William and waited for the subject to come up. And I waited. And waited. I finally realized no one was going to say anything unless I did. Probably because they didn't know how I would handle it if they said something, I rationalized. So I finally showed my mom his pictures, and gave her the ones I'd had printed for her. I also asked her if she wanted some of his ashes - we decided to give some of William's ashes to the grandfathers he was named after. She said she did.

Once she was looking at the pictures, then my sisters and my niece wanted to see as well, and we talked about him a little, and about what happened. But I found it really interesting that none of the men - my brother-in-law, my nephew - wanted to hear about it or see him. They left the room in a hurry, and it ironically reminded me of whenever I have a newborn and start nursing them in public.

I think women understand on a more visceral level. Men are so bodily and experientially removed from it, it's probably even more horrifying and terrifying to them. Not that some women don't say all the wrong things...

My oldest sister told me how strong I was, that she was a mess when she found out, and she was glad my niece (in-law), S., was the one who came to the hospital to be with us, because she didn't know if she could have handled it. And my 2nd oldest sister told me all about how she had to pull over when she heard the news, because she was so devastated and crying so hard, but it comforts her to know that, "Dad got to see that baby first up in heaven." *sigh*

Not that I begrudge them their sadness... or their comforts. I know it's sad. People I have never even met face to face are sad about it, and I get that.

My mother-in-law took the prize for worst response, though. Three days after we'd called to tell her what happened, she called us. Not to ask if we needed anything. Not to inquire how we were doing. No. Instead, she calls my husband's cell (she wouldn't dare call mine and do this) to scream at him, "You haven't called me in three days and you obviously don't want to talk to me!"

WTH?!


M. didn't even tell me she called and said something. It wasn't until I overheard him on the phone with her, telling her how inappropriate her comments had been and how much he didn't appreciate it, that I realized. It's not like this is the first time she's done something like this - it's just that I can't think of a worse time and circumstance. I knew she liked to play the narcissistic martyr... but now? Really? In the midst of the mourning of the death of my child, she's going to play the martyr card and make us take care of her feelings?

Honestly, I can't do it. I've obviously been willing to before, seeing as I have so many of these types of people around me. In the past, I've been willing to suppress my own feelings to take care of everyone else's feelings around me, to let them think they were bigger, more important, than my own. But this grief is too big even for me to contain. I can't do it.

There have been times, in the past, I've thought that I should just do something drastic, or check myself into a mental hospital, just to "prove" that I'm not really as strong - at least on the inside - and everyone else seems to think I am. But in this case, it's not a consideration, or a rational thought... it's a real possibility. I cry all day. I sit for hours doing/staring at nothing. I forget to do the most basic things. Like take a shower. Or brush my teeth. Or eat. I hear babies crying. And I'm not sure it's all in my head.

What I want to do is crawl into a closet and stay there. I used to do it when I was little, whenever my parents would fight. It was rare that anyone came looking for me, and I once spent the entire night asleep in the closet. I emerged in the morning, and no one knew I'd been in there. That pretty much sums up how "strong" I am in the face of emotional stress. I hide, and no one notices, and everyone mistakes it for my being brave.

Every day, the closet seems more and more appealing.