Vent

You know, most of the time I hold it together pretty well, I think. But sometimes, I want to knock some people upside the head. There have been a ton of supportive people in my life throughout this whole trial of losing Luke. But to put it bluntly, some people are idiots. If you don't want to hear it, stop reading. Because if one more person tells me that I need to be patient or understanding, they are going to get the wrath of Kris. And trust me - that ain't pretty.

Twice in the last two weeks, I've seen people who I haven't seen since about November. And twice I've been greeted with, "Oh - you had your baby!". In one case, it was totally not the person's fault. They just didn't know. But as soon as I told them that my son was stillborn - silence. Not one more word. It was as if they thought if they ignored it, it would go away. The second person was Aaron's uncle, who did know. He just forgot. Thanks a lot. Glad to know how important we are to you.

I also got my first person who told me it was meant to be. SHUT UP RIGHT NOW. Even if it was, do you seriously think that is want I want to hear from you. I'll tell you what - when your kid dies, then you can tell me it was meant to be. Deal?

Then I went to a church family history class about journaling. The teacher read a poem about the two dates on a tombstone, and how only the little dash in between them really means anything. My son doesn't have a freaking dash, lady. And guess what - his life mattered just as much as yours. And what about the babies who do have a dash, but there's only a few days or months or years in between those dashes? Do they matter less than the ones who lived a hundred years? I think not.

You know, I really am not a bitter or resentful person. But I have been surprised at the people who have reached out to me, and the ones who haven't. I have a couple of people in particular that I have been disappointed in. But there have been just as many who have shocked me by reaching out when I didn't know them that well. I had pretty much the crappiest Mother's Day ever (I'll post about that later). Not due to lack of effort from my husband and kids, but just because my baby was supposed to be or almost be here with me. One of my kids was missing from the day. I spent pretty much the entire morning crying. I went to church, dreading it. I missed the Mother's Day gift there because I was trying to get to my class without breaking down. And during that entire 3 hours, ONE person asked me how I was doing. It was a girl I am not particularly close to, but she noticed and she took a moment out of her day to let me know she noticed and was thinking about me. It meant so much to me that I actually emailed her afterward to let her know that it had made a difference.

I understand that it is hard to talk about. I understand that people don't want to upset me. But trust me, Luke is always on my mind. You are not reminding me - I did not forget. Elizabeth Edwards, who lost a son in a car accident, said , "'If you know someone who has lost a child or lost anybody who's important to them, and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died, they didn't forget they died. You're not reminding them. What you're reminding them of is that you remember that they lived, and that's a great, great gift." My son lived. Not many people had the privilege of knowing him while he was here, but he was here.

This isn't even all about me. I hope that most of you who read this know - this isn't about you. You are great. You have been there with us, and if you didn't know what to say, you said that. And that's perfect. There aren't a whole lot of words. But if you know someone is suffering or grieving, reach out. They may not always respond. But they will remember.