About a year and a half ago I joined this not so awesome "club". A club of parents- especially women- who have become experts in ending conversations.
We aren't rude. We haven't mastered the "sorry I need to take this- it's an emergency" line. In all reality we HATE that we have this skill and are a part of this group.
The club is called: Bereaved Parents
We end conversations by doing what other parents do ALL THE TIME. We talk about our children. The only difference is the child I talk about is an Angel, and that's not the name of his sports team.
Generally the conversation goes something like this.
Hey there long lost friend/acquaintance. I haven't seen you in (blank) years. What are you up to these days? They respond with reminiscing something general about life the last time we spent any time together and then talk all about their job, spouse, house, kids…. and then ask a me to deliver the same info.
So I do. It starts off happy and fun. I'm married to Matt. We just bought a house and it has an amazing back yard for our Lab and Goldendoodle (yea you need to meet this guy). I took the extended path through college but finally graduated just in time for school budgets to tank- so I'm a substitute teacher patiently awaiting my dream teaching job.
And then they ask- do you have any kids? Cause anyone who knows me knows I have always wanted a kids. And I answer-ALWAYS with a smile. Sometimes it's just a short: We lost our little guy last April. Other times I give a bit more detail. Sometimes I'm stronger than others- sometimes I shed a slight tear- but there is always a smile. Because nothing brings joy like being about to talk about your Angel Baby.
That's where it ends… very abruptly if its a conversation over text/facebook/email. If its a conversation happening in person you get "the look" followed by I'm so sorry and no matter how hard I try to revive the conversation with questions about their kids or life the conversation just fads until its quickly over.
I've tried to change the way the conversation goes. "No kids for Matt and I yet." And every time I say something along those lines- it kills me. Because it's a Lie. We have a child. I held my living, breathing, kicking, bubble blowing baby boy in my arms. I have his birth certificate. I just also have his death certificate. I miss him every moment of every day. I want to talk about him- to say his name. And when I deny that he is a part of us its painful.
I have mastered a response for the kids when I sub. They often ask about my life. "Mr. D is a firefighter. We have an Angel baby and 2 fur kids. Clara is a yellow lab and Tonka is a puppy." They get so excited about Clara and Tonka that the angel baby comment gets lost- but I can live with myself because I know I acknowledged my child. This response doesn't work on adults. They catch angel baby and they ask, which leads to the same outcome… conversation over.
This past weekend I had the opportunity to participate in a celebration for 50 years of Field Hockey at my alma mater. When I first learned about it- I was super excited for a chance to pick up a hockey stick, grab a new hoodie, and relive some of the great memories of high school. But the day rolled around and I decided not to go. Mainly because I didn't want to end conversations before they started and I wasn't interested in regretting having failed to mentioned that indeed I do have a child. So I sat at home, played with the dogs, and hit up Netflix to binge on New Girl (so I'm fresh when they release the next season in a few days).
It sucks. It sucks to not be able to talk about my baby- just briefly- without the conversation ending. It hurts to know that rather than deal with a moment of sadness and then move on, people would rather end the conversation and walk away. This bereaved parents club is the worst! Yet there is no way to no longer be a member.
Sorry if you were hoping to learn a stealth way to terminate that extremely awkward conversation with the creepy guy who you always see at the grocery store… the best advice I have for that is to shop at a different store.
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