By Kaci Goodrich Uipi
I've decided that if I'm really going to have this blog, I need to be completely honest. No more holding back my true feelings. I can't care what anyone else thinks of me. It hasn't happened to them, so how do they know what I'm supposed to be feeling? Besides, no one really reads my blog anyway...
so here goes...
I'm tired of people not being sensitive to my feelings. I'm tired of obnoxious pregnant women sitting next to me rubbing their big belly while chatting about when their water is going to break and what they are going to name their baby. I'm tired of people constantly teaming me up with either pregnant women or new moms for church callings and visiting teaching. I'm tired of people inviting me over to their house where they have also invited other women who just happened to give birth the same month as me... and their babies are there with them, as if they needed proof.
I'm especially tired of the people who continually ask me how I'm doing, and really don't care for the honest answer. I'm also tired of the people that pee their pants if I tell them I'm actually not doing so great because my son died a few months ago... as if they forgot this small detail. And then there's the people who think they've helped me so much during this difficult time because they've told me things like, "Your son was just too pure for this Earth". Sorry folks, but cliches don't help.
Oh yeah, and then the much older and wiser (and even the younger and hipper) people who have given me advice on the way I should have done the funeral to how I should now be grieving. HA! Why should I listen to you? You people have never even lost a child!
I think, though, what I'm really tired of, is feeling like this. Feeling like the huge ordeal we experienced in the hospital for 3 weeks was all in vain. The countless hours of stress, anxiety, headaches, confusion, and being mislead that entire time... why? Why did I have to watch him suffer? Why did I have to watch him be poked countless times, even to the point of needing blood transfusions? Why did I have to escort him to so many surgeries and x-rays, without his life support machine plugged in, watching with anxiety the RT's every move, wondering if he was going to die right then and there because the RT forgot to pump air for 1 second? Why did I have to watch him become more swollen every day, having to have catheters put in, because he couldn't even pee by himself? Why did I have to watch nurse after nurse stick tubes down his nose and throat, only for him to gag with complete agony while thrusting his entire body trying to spit the tubes out? Why did I have to watch my perfect little baby turn into someone that didn't even look like him?
As you can see, I'm tired of a lot of things. This must be why it's hard to think straight most of the time. I'm dealing with my loss as best as I know how. Writing seems to be good therapy for me. If any of you have a problem with things I've said, I would almost bet that you've never lost a child. I might be wrong, but then again, this is my grief, and nobody else's.