The Complex Answer to “How Are You?” After a Miscarriage or Failed Adoption
“How are you?”— Three simple words. Three simple words that can convey so much more.
That coincidence thing happened again. I received an email from someone who recently lost her fourth child through miscarriage last month. She said people ask how she’s doing, but she has no easy answer and what results is an uncomfortable moment for everyone. Then a couple of weeks ago I heard from one of our Creating a Family community who faced a similar awkward pause in response to someone asking how she was doing after the woman that had chosen them as the adoptive parents for her unborn daughter decided against adoption after giving birth. They had been matched for 5 months.
Miscarriage and failed adoptions are distinct sufferings—each with their own pain, grief, and loneliness. One thing they share, however, is the lack of understanding by many others. So often, after the first couple of weeks, people don’t even ask how you are doing. If they do ask, often they don’t really want the answer. They are simply asking out of common courtesy—the conversational equivalent of a perfunctory pat on the head of shallow banter.
This avoidance is a curious thing really. I think in part people avoid talking about the loss of a child through miscarriage or failed adoption because they don’t understand it. It’s easy to minimize, I mean after all, you were only ___ weeks pregnant. Or it wasn’t even your child yet. You can always try again. Even if they understand your pain and disappointment at first, after a few weeks they expect you to be moving past it, getting on with your life because after all, you were only ___ weeks pregnant. Or it wasn’t even your child yet. You can always try again. I also think people avoid the question because the answer may be too painful to hear.
I wish I had a ready, socially acceptable answer for the “How are you” question after the loss of your child through miscarriage or an adoption match that falls through. My first thought is to be thankful that the person had the courage to ask. The asking reflects some degree of understanding and recognition of your loss. That is a kindness in itself.
Often the situation demands a short, truthful answer, along the lines of:
- Grief is a process, and I’m in the process.
- It’s hard and some days are better than others. Thanks for asking. It means a lot.
Every once in a while, though, you need to truly tell someone how you are doing. I cried this week when I read a Facebook post by one of our Creating a Family community telling us how she really is feeling after losing her twins earlier this year at 18 weeks… painful, honest, eloquent. With her permission, I’ll share it here.
“People ask me all the time, “How are you doing?” To most people I simply tell them “I’m doing better” or even in some cases just simply keep the conversation moving. I tell them “I’m doing fine” but the truth of the matter is I really don’t know how I’m doing. I really don’t.
How are you supposed to be doing after you’ve lost your babies? After cremating your children’s bodies that barley had begun to grow. After getting ready to start picking out things for their nursery. It seems even with all the answers found in beautiful poetry and the overwhelming outpouring of thoughtful words from family & friends, and even in the very promises of God about heaven, the real answer seems to remain elusive.
How do you simply “go on” when every day you see the empty belly that once was big & round? How do you get back to normal when the only normal you’ve ever known will never be the same? How do you process all the what if’s which pour through your mind. Especially, the ones we work so hard to convince people we don’t have.
How am I doing?…I’m not doing well. I’m consumed with sadness. The awkwardness of not having my son & daughter has in many ways only increased. I can be in the middle of my day making dinner and start crying for no reason at all. Oh, there’s a reason alright, maybe a million of them. I see swings in the park and know that our babies will never swing on them. I often find myself wondering–mostly unconsciously–what our babies would have been like as they grew up. What it would have been like to hear them say “I love you Mommy”. Would they have loved music? What would their favorite ride at Disney Land have been? … I do believe in God’s flawless plan for me and my Husband. And while my trust in Him does not remove the emotions that make me human, I believe He loves me. Thank you Father for our babies. Please take care of them until I get there to help you.”
The raw and painful answer is that you are in deep pain, but with time, patience, and support you will get better.
Image credit: Rampant Gian