A Reaction and a Response

Yesterday I was talking to my friend Amy about sharing news even when it is hard to here. We talked about how it was hard for me when she had her third baby in March 2008, three months after Henry died. She remembered calling to tell me she had had the baby, she remembered me saying congratulations, and then tears. And her telling of that moment put me back there in that swimming place of happiness for another, relief, but mostly sadness and jealousy. I remember how hard it hit me when she told me, even though I had been expecting it. I remember not being able to speak. And yesterday, for a moment I was plunged back there and tears came again.


Today, I got a message from a friend on Facebook (the one I wrote about here). She apologized for not responding sooner (she's in the middle of a job change and a move). Her response was sincere and thoughtful and acknowledged the breadth of my experience without glossing over Henry with Kathleen. It was a relief to get her response. I had kind of written it off, but I suppose on some level it still bugged me.

Vulnerable

I finally got on Facebook. I avoided it for a long time, only because it seemed like it could be a way to waste a lot of time and I don't have enough time as it is. Then in one week, I missed a friend's birth announcement and the fact that another friend had actually sold and moved out of her house (without a new house to move into) and had somebody ask me five days in a row if I was on Facebook yet. I gave in, got on, and kind of liked it. I posted random things I was doing, saw pictures of friends kids, friended a few people.

I decided I didn't need to friend everybody I ever knew who was on Facebook, but there were a couple of people from college who I hadn't talked to in years. I got into a little back and forth with one of them, and she asked about me and I gave a brief summary of the last 15-20 years, including that I had a baby who died. And then I waited.

And I haven't hear from her since. It's been four days.

First thoughts . . . maybe she didn't read it yet. Then . . . maybe she is thinking about how to respond. Now . . . guess that's that.

It makes me wary about telling people. I will keep telling people, but I'll always feel vulnerable once I write it or say it, waiting to see the response—or lack thereof.