Of platitudes and other people’s babies…

I realised something this weekend. I don’t have a problem with kids in general. Nick has issues. Seeing other people’s kids hurts him. Me? Not so much. Much as before Hudson, most kids are nameless, faceless little rugrats. Glazed donuts who rarely consult me and who are rarely consulted in return.

That is, until said babies belong to the ladies I was pregnant with.

It’s happened a few times. We’ve been invited to birthday parties or get togethers and haven’t even thought to ask who’d be there. I’ll be put slap bang in front of one or all of the moms I was pregnant with, or rather their babies, and I’ll be reminded, quite starkly, as to where Hudson would have been had he not died. Then, for two days after, I just cannot hold it together. The next day, history has proven, I will crash and the day that follows will be touch and go.

At first, I did not put two and two together – grief doesn’t make for smart – but I realised it this weekend. And while I hold no grudges towards these moms or their adorable kids, I will no longer be attending these get togethers – especially on days where I’m just not strong enough to handle it. I’m going to become one of those rude people who ask “Who’s going to be there?” when they’re invited and declines if something that results in sore is going to happen.

How sucky is that?

How little do I care?

And now… on to the platitudes section of today’s blog.

I should warn everyone that I’m pretty angry. I’m going through a pissed off phase. I’m pissed off with people who talk without thinking. I’m pissed off with people who use their trauma to get out of doing stuff and living life. I’m pissed off with people who have no individual thought and suddenly remember to send messages of their own when I send message to Hudson. I’m pissed off with two of what used to be my best friends who fucking disappeared almost six months ago (and no, a Facebook mail that says nothing and acknowledges no-one sent months later is not enough – believe me, the only reason you haven’t been defriended is because I lack the courage to click the button on a friendship I used to hold very dear – I’ll get over this soon enough, fear not).

I’m pissed off with non-family from far away judging me and the way I raised and lived with my son who are now trying to be a part of my grief process even after I’ve defriended and ended all communications with all of them. Oh, and stop using my son’s Facebook page to try and talk to me. It’s not cool and it’s not going to happen.

I’m pissed off that I’m pissed off. I’m sick of biting my mother’s head off when she’s just being a human being. I’m sick of pasting a smile on my face with everyone else to negate the possibility of making them uncomfortable. I’m pissed that I’m here – that it’s been the best and worst year of my life and I can neither celebrate nor commiserate without being disloyal to my son. I’m pissed off that I know nothing about anything anymore.

But most of all I’m pissed off with the platitudes.

I’m not sure I heard them in the beginning. I now realise the words have been said to me so often that I’ve almost lost the opportunity to react. But here, my solace, my private thoughts, my therapy, those that I share with the world, here I can say what I should’ve said back then.

Everything happens for a reason – the next person to say this to me is going to get asked what the reason was that Hudson came into my life and was taken away. It’s going to be uncomfortable and I don’t care because I want to know what reason resides in your brain for this having happened. Just one. I’m going to ask for just one. So prepare yourself.

God wanted his angel back – fuck god. I want my child back. He was my god. He was my king. He was my universe. I wanted him here more than any god could ever want him wherever he is now and fuck whoever it was that decided he had to leave.

God only gives to those what they can handle – ditto and bullshit. This is the most unbearable thing I can ever imagine happening to anyone. I’m getting through it because I have no other choice and that is the only reason. I have no other choice. Yes, it’s happening to me but I’m not alone. Daily, I learn about people who are losing their kids or whose babies are being born sick or with broken little hearts. There is no god that would want any human to want to be able to “handle” this.

Anything to do with karma – I will do my nut. I was a good person. I sought homes for homeless animals, I donated to charities, I was kind to strangers, I gave money to the homeless and I did my very best to love people in a very unloveable country. And my child still died. Karma can fuck right off.

Note: Whenever I write a blog like this I spend hours or days agonising over who I may have offended, over who may take my writing personally so…

To the people who’ve acknowledge that this blows to unbelievable proportions, who acknowledge that my son was awesome, that my son existed and died and acknowledge that the pain I feel is real and will be prolonged and that to them I’m okay no matter what I’m feeling. To the people who don’t give me shit when I don’t want to do stuff or when I’m feeling like crap; and to the friends and family who have not left my side through this whole ordeal – I cannot put into words how important you are to me.

I cannot verbalise how different things could have been had you not been there; your shoulders, the ones I may not physically lean on but I lean on nonetheless, the meaningful words that you actually thought about before putting down, the mere fact that you’re okay to sit in silence when I can’t talk or need to be quiet for a while.

And to my mom, who calls when I need her most and offers platitudes of her own only because she knows her versions make sense to me, who shares her dreams and messages she says are from my boy.

All of this means the world. And I thank you.

PS: I’m less pissed off now. In case you were ever wondering why I write this blog.