Bitter, Party Of One

Post by Still Standing Contributor Megan Harris

If I had trouble keeping my thoughts to myself before we lost the boys, now I find it impossible. I have become the lady standing there, mouth wide open, staring in confusion – bitter, party of one.

I’ve gone from tossing a casual glance at mothers raising their voices to kids to actually telling a mother in the grocery store, who was juggling a case of beer, along with her 6-month-old twins who she screamed at to shut up, that I would happily take both of them off her hands.

How dare I?  Who do I think I am?

I don’t know their stories, I don’t know their circumstances.

Every mother has a bad day…

I get it. I understand.

Motherhood isn’t all rainbows, it’s hard. You have to juggle your time, your resources, your energy.

It must get tiring hearing kids cry, tug on your shirt asking a thousand questions, saying your name over and over.

Constant laundry, time to make dinner, why are their toys all over the floor again?

But you know what’s worse than that?

Silence.

Not hearing your babies cry.

Not breaking up a fight between your twin boys.

Knowing that you will never play referee to them and hear the justification of why they hit their brother.

I try not to judge. Sometimes it’s easier than others.

I have gotten good at distinguishing the busy, harried moms who are just weary and tired from the moms who spend more time annoyed than amused at her kids.

To the mom who just needs a break from holding her eager toddler from the one who never puts her phone down to engage in the honest questions her child wants to ask.

I make an honest effort to understand because nothing is worse than being judged.

To be held to a standard that people wouldn’t be able to hold themselves to.

“Still crying about Tucker and Fletcher dying? Hasn’t it been like 3 months?”

“You should move on already.”

“At least you didn’t get a chance to know them.”

“I know exactly how you feel, we had to put our dog down last year, it’ll get easier.”

“Just hold on, you’ll have another baby, at least you have angels now.”  

“I think I might be pregnant again, I don’t want another baby, you want this one if I am pregnant, haha!?”

Haha?! Sometimes I just want to scream.

I have been in the shoes of the person who didn’t know what to say to a grieving mother and I didn’t say much because I was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

I didn’t want to upset her, I didn’t want to make her cry.

I never knew, until 9 months ago, that you never stop thinking about them.

You just get used to the empty feeling in your stomach. The ache that doesn’t go away, the taste of blood from biting your lip to stop the tears from spilling over.

Losing our twins changed me. It changed my husband. It changed us.

Our relationship is strong and I continue to thank God every day for that because this is not easy.

I understand how marriages collapse. I see now how people get lost in their grief.

I have searched for something that would validate my emotions, the moments that take you by the throat and leave you unable to breathe.

You expect to be upset when you see a mom jogging with her babies – when you see announcements of a pregnancy, a birth, a 1^st birthday.

What I didn’t expect were the moments when I turned around in my car to get something and realized that I’d never look back and pick up a dropped paci for Tucker.

I’d never have to change clothes because Fletcher spit up all over me.

When you lose a baby you lose a child.

A toddler.

A teenager.

You lose part of your future.

Releasing butterflies was an appropriate symbol for us at the Walk To Remember. They have always reminded me there is hope after heartache, joy after sadness and life after loss.

When I let them go, I tried to release the feelings of guilt, anger, sadness, and desperation that has stayed with me over the past 9 months.

In true grief fashion, the butterflies held on, they clung to me and when they would fall I kept picking them up to carry them.

Until I made a conscious effort to walk away from the noise, the crowd and the chaos to give them the final push off they needed, and I watched them fly away.

I’m trying, every day, to do the same with the emotions that try to hold me back.

So now, instead of standing there, mouth open, bitter, party of one – I wish the mother well.

I tell her how cute her kids are and I offer up a prayer that God will give her the strength to raise her children strong and know how blessed she is, even when the hard days hit.