Please Be Gentle

Disclaimer: It's about to get real, folks. You don't have to read this, but you should. Also:

1. This post is not about you specifically. 
2. However, if the shoe fits, please try to wear it with grace.

Okay.

So here's a conversation that Dustin and I have with unpleasant amounts of regularity:

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The Cast:

Person (P): Person who knows us fairly well, but doesn't know the intimacies of our situation

Us (U): Me and/or Dustin

The Setting:

Real life; an innocuous catching-up; typically in a busy public place.

Script: 

U: Ruby's doing great, thanks for asking. She's 5 now. Big stuff.

P: How cute. I bet she's getting so big. And how's um...the sister? Do you guys see her too?

U: No. We haven't seen her since last fall.

P: Nods head, registers information. Oh. How's Dustin's job?

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Let me tell you some things about this conversation:

1. It sucks.
2. It's the worst.
3. I hate it.

After we had this conversation about a hundred times, it started to go a little differently:

U: Ruby's doing great, thanks for asking. She's 5 now. Big stuff.

P: How cute. I bet she's getting so big. And how's um...the sister? Do you guys see her too?

U: No. We haven't seen her since last fall. And it's terrible. We're really heartbroken. 

P: Nods head, registers information. Oh, that's sad....How's Dustin's job?

See the difference? The difference is Us begging Person to respond in a way that acknowledges our pain. It says, "Hey, I didn't bring this up, but since you're asking, we're really having a hard time right now."

Listen, Person. I don't want you to say, "Oh, that's sad" like we're talking about someone we barely know whose cat got hit by a car. Honestly, I don't know what I want you to say. But I can tell you that I want you to recognize the gravity of this situation. We're talking about OUR KID here. We're talking about how Ruby is 5 years old, and the only person she has consistently been with since she was 2 years old just FELL OUT OF HER LIFE. We're talking about our 3-year-old child, who disappeared out of our home and our family.

It sucks. It's the worst. I hate it. And every time this conversation happens, I want to cry. And if I'm honest, sometimes I want to yell at Person: WHY ARE YOU ASKING THAT IN THE TONE OF VOICE YOU WOULD USE TO ASK ME WHERE I GOT MY SHOES? I LOST MY KID I LOST MY KID I LOST MY KID DON'T YOU GET IT?!

Let's compare this to another conversation we have sometimes, about our dog, who died in 2011.

U: Ruby's doing great, thanks for asking. She's 5 now. Big stuff.

P: How cute. I bet she's getting so big. And how's um...the dog? What's his name again?

U: Mr. Captain. And um, well, he actually died suddenly a while back.

P: Looks appalled and distraught. Oh my goodness!!!! I'm so sorry!!!! I had no idea!!!!! Wow, that's so awful!!!!

Here's why that conversation goes differently:

1. Person recognizes that something very bad happened.
2. Person understands that this probably makes Us sad, and empathizes.
3. Person feels bad for bringing it up.

What's weird is that The Sister Conversation is seriously so, so much harder for Us than The Dog Conversation, and yet, the conversations go contrary to what you'd expect. We loved Mr. Captain, and we miss him, but he was a dog. I actually always feel a little bad for the person who inadvertently walks into the "our dog died" conversation, because s/he always seems to feel so bad about it, and really, we're okay with it. We miss him, but don't beat yourself up for asking about him. How could you have known?

I don't feel bad for Person when Person inadvertently walks into the "we lost our kid" conversation. I feel bad for Us. And every time, I wonder why Person responds that way.

Having had the "what about the sister" conversation repeatedly, I think I kind of get it. Lots of people don't know what it's like to be a foster parent or a co-parent or a part-time parent: why would they? I think maybe they think that since the kids going back and forth between parents/living situations/custody is a regular thing for us, it must not be that hard or that big of a deal. Plus, from Person's perspective, it's not like The Sister (what's her name again?) ever really beLONGed to Us....I mean, she just lived with Us for a while, but foster parents do that all the time, right? 

Some quick clarification: the going back and forth between custody isn't easy. Yes, you get used to it, and yes, it becomes your "normal," but it's never easy. And yes, yes she did belong to us. Heart and soul.

Because my parents raised me to be tactful and kind even when other people aren't, I've also thought about what I can do to make this conversation go differently, and the conclusion I've come to is this: I'm not going to be able to fix it. It's all I can do to respond to Person's question in a calm tone of voice, with as little judgment as possible. I can't make it easier on Person, because I'm too busy trying to just answer the stupid question without crying. And also, you know what, I keep hoping that Person will respond appropriately. That s/he'll be sad. Be empathetic. Be sorry s/he asked. If I play down the emotion and struggle of this situation, how is Person ever going to know to be more careful next time (let's hope there's not a next time) s/he encounters another person in a situation like ours? 

Okay, I'm about to be presume something, for the sake of making this easier to relate to. Before I do, let me just say that I do NOT know what it's like to lose a child to death. I can't pretend to imagine the pain that must cause. But for the sake of this example, and because it's something people can relate to, imagine that Victoria (her name is Victoria) was happy and healthy, until suddenly, she became violently ill, and after a short (but well-publicized) struggle with illness, she died.

Now revisit the original conversation.

U: Ruby's doing great, thanks for asking. She's 5 now. Big stuff.

P: How cute. I bet she's getting so big. And how's um...the sister? Is she better yet?

U: No. She, um, died. In the fall.

P: Nods head, registers information. Oh. How's Dustin's work?

....Not cool, right?

Again, I don't know what it's like to have my child die. If you're reading this, and you've suffered that particular tragedy, please know that I'm so, so sorry, and  I wish I had words that would somehow make it hurt less, or that there was something I could do to ease your pain. I wish I could hug your heart and make the hurt go away. I don't equate my situation to yours; the only reason I'm drawing this comparison is because the loss of a child is something most people can imagine and relate to. I am not in any way diminishing the catastrophe you've suffered.

I do know what it's like to lose a child suddenly, and to feel, in a very real sense, like you'll never see her again in this lifetime. I do know what it's like to hear your preschooler cry every day for her sister, and to be powerless to help her understand why she can't see her. I know what it's like to be up at 3am writing a blog post about it because I can't sleep for thinking about it. I know what it's like to just stop talking about it, because it's easier not to. I know what it's like to wonder if it wouldn't be easier if she HAD died - at least then we wouldn't be in perpetual limbo.

So please. Please be gentle. Please don't ask about Victoria to satisfy your own curiosity. Please only ask if you're prepared to recognize and deal with the gravity of our loss. It's very real, and raw, and terrible for us, and especially for Ruby. We miss Victoria every day, painfully and heartrendingly. We cry for her and we ache inside at the most unexpected times. I'm not being melodramatic; I'm being real.

If you can't be gentle, or you don't know how, ask someone else. Don't ask us. Plenty of people know the details of the situation, and you can satisfy your curiosity through them, without eviscerating us. You're right to think that we want to know that you care and that you remember Victoria, but we don't want it enough for you to make us suffer through a brutal, careless conversation about it. We'd rather not talk about it with you if you can't handle it with sensitivity and empathy and kindness. I'm not trying to be harsh; I'm exercising self-preservation for myself and my family.

And in general, in life, with everyone, try to be more gentle. (This is an admonition for myself, too.) Think before you speak; and then, having thought, speak gently. You might think you're asking a simple question when really, you're stepping on a landmine strapped to someone's heart. And at least if that happens, and it will, because we all mess up sometimes and ask stupid things....if it happens, show some humanity. Don't just look at the exploding shrapnel like it's part of a foreign disaster on CNN. Have a heart, and try to take some of the pain with you - it will make your friend's load just a little bit lighter to know you're carrying it with her.