Life Uncommon
As children we are taught the benefit of sharing. I am convinced that such early education has an economical optimization in mind: if you have three kids that love to share, then you just need to buy one toy. For the sake of argument, let's forget that such logic never, ever works.
Over time, you learn to share non-tangible things: thoughts and feelings. Almost all communication is a sharing of some sort. Our ability to share what is in our minds and hearts is one of the things which make us human. The ability to take ourselves out of our own context and into anothers is what makes us graceful. The ability to make others want to leave their contexts and enter our own is what makes us leaders. The courage to share the events of our lives with others makes them be closer to us.
I share quite a bit. In fact, I'm sure many people dub me the king of "too much information". I don't care. It is my way -- if you are near my life you are part of my life. No one ever scratched their head and said "gee, I wonder what Ed thinks about XYZ." When I share good news it is because I want to celebrate with those around me. When I share bad news, it is because I seek the support of those around me.
An old African proverb states "It takes a village to raise a child". But not just any village, I would suppose. I assume one would require a village of communicating, sharing, close-knit people. People who are not afraid to share bad news as well as good news.
So, three weeks ago, when Linda told me she was pregnant we danced in the kitchen. We called some family. We called some friends. We waited a week or two more and then started telling those around us. We simply could not wait. The concept of not sharing good news with people we care is just alien to us. Not being able to communicate that joy ate at us as we tried to be disciplined enough to only tell people as we saw them in person.
And yesterday, Monday, as Linda and I were rushing to the hospital with pains we sat in the OB's office wondering what was happening. After blood work and examinations and ultrasounds we were finally given the news we had so desperately not wanted to hear: our pregnancy was not viable. We had an empty "yoke-sac". No heartbeat. No arm buds. No leg buds. The biological equivalent of a plastic easter-egg canister.
Tomorrow, Linda will undergo a short procedure and, just like that, we will be back to "baby-making square one".
But, before all that, came the difficult task of informing family, then friends, of the bad news. And such is the double-edged sword of living an open life: laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and you cry alone. Now, that's a little draconian because I'm not crying right now and when I was, I was certainly not crying alone.
But, especially in our relative young ages, we simply don't have an experiential repetouire of tragedies to draw upon. A friends wants to talk playstation/football/parties/comedy clubs/computers, etc... and we all have experience in that. We can hold our own. What, your computer died? I have experience with that. I can talk to you about it.
Toss in some life tragedies and the experience gap is pronounced: You lost your pregnancy? Usually you get a silence first, then an "I'm sorry" then... another I'm sorry. Where do you go from there? I've gotten some incredibly touching responses and some incredibly un-touching responses, and I would relate all of them back to the experiential depth of the responder.
Touching responses have been some of the outpourings from family and friends. The flowers, the frequent phone calls, the shared tears, the offered hopes, the relating of similar occurences. Thank you, and God bless you.
The normal responses have been more of the "ouch", "damn", and general "I'm so sorry" responses which show a recognition of emotional pain, but just a lack of know-how in alleviating it.
A rather unexpected and, less touching, response that you get sometimes is "well, that's why you aren't supposed to tell people you are pregnant in the 1st trimester".
I think I understand the support being offered in that "advice": Don't count your chickens until they are hatched. But behind it is a more sinister interpretation of life:
-only share to others that which makes you look good and strong.
-don't share your hopes, lest you look foolish if they are dashed.
-what happened is shaming and should be hidden.
I'm sorry, but those are the philosophies of the emotionally weak -- philosophies in which one sinks or swims by the perception of others.
So, while it is very hurtful to have to go through, and share, such pain with so many family and friends it would be more hurtful still to have kept the last three weeks of joy, promise, hope, terror and dispair to myself. To have removed from those around me the insight into my life that I publish every day.
Some people get it and others cannot. But it's the way I live my life, and it is certainly a life uncommon.
When Linda and I started trying to have a baby in June we did not know how long it would take us to conceive, but we told people anyway. We laughed because it coincided with our cruise. Our family and friends dubbed it the 2005 "scruise". Did we know at the time it would only take us 2.5 months to conceive? No! Did we care? No! Would we have cared if it took us 12 months? 16 months? No! It was an important milestone in our lives, and one we wanted to share with those we felt close to.
What is the possible benefit of holding our hopes and our fears like poker cards -- close to our chest so that no others can see?
-Ed
Over time, you learn to share non-tangible things: thoughts and feelings. Almost all communication is a sharing of some sort. Our ability to share what is in our minds and hearts is one of the things which make us human. The ability to take ourselves out of our own context and into anothers is what makes us graceful. The ability to make others want to leave their contexts and enter our own is what makes us leaders. The courage to share the events of our lives with others makes them be closer to us.
I share quite a bit. In fact, I'm sure many people dub me the king of "too much information". I don't care. It is my way -- if you are near my life you are part of my life. No one ever scratched their head and said "gee, I wonder what Ed thinks about XYZ." When I share good news it is because I want to celebrate with those around me. When I share bad news, it is because I seek the support of those around me.
An old African proverb states "It takes a village to raise a child". But not just any village, I would suppose. I assume one would require a village of communicating, sharing, close-knit people. People who are not afraid to share bad news as well as good news.
So, three weeks ago, when Linda told me she was pregnant we danced in the kitchen. We called some family. We called some friends. We waited a week or two more and then started telling those around us. We simply could not wait. The concept of not sharing good news with people we care is just alien to us. Not being able to communicate that joy ate at us as we tried to be disciplined enough to only tell people as we saw them in person.
And yesterday, Monday, as Linda and I were rushing to the hospital with pains we sat in the OB's office wondering what was happening. After blood work and examinations and ultrasounds we were finally given the news we had so desperately not wanted to hear: our pregnancy was not viable. We had an empty "yoke-sac". No heartbeat. No arm buds. No leg buds. The biological equivalent of a plastic easter-egg canister.
Tomorrow, Linda will undergo a short procedure and, just like that, we will be back to "baby-making square one".
But, before all that, came the difficult task of informing family, then friends, of the bad news. And such is the double-edged sword of living an open life: laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and you cry alone. Now, that's a little draconian because I'm not crying right now and when I was, I was certainly not crying alone.
But, especially in our relative young ages, we simply don't have an experiential repetouire of tragedies to draw upon. A friends wants to talk playstation/football/parties/comedy clubs/computers, etc... and we all have experience in that. We can hold our own. What, your computer died? I have experience with that. I can talk to you about it.
Toss in some life tragedies and the experience gap is pronounced: You lost your pregnancy? Usually you get a silence first, then an "I'm sorry" then... another I'm sorry. Where do you go from there? I've gotten some incredibly touching responses and some incredibly un-touching responses, and I would relate all of them back to the experiential depth of the responder.
Touching responses have been some of the outpourings from family and friends. The flowers, the frequent phone calls, the shared tears, the offered hopes, the relating of similar occurences. Thank you, and God bless you.
The normal responses have been more of the "ouch", "damn", and general "I'm so sorry" responses which show a recognition of emotional pain, but just a lack of know-how in alleviating it.
A rather unexpected and, less touching, response that you get sometimes is "well, that's why you aren't supposed to tell people you are pregnant in the 1st trimester".
I think I understand the support being offered in that "advice": Don't count your chickens until they are hatched. But behind it is a more sinister interpretation of life:
-only share to others that which makes you look good and strong.
-don't share your hopes, lest you look foolish if they are dashed.
-what happened is shaming and should be hidden.
I'm sorry, but those are the philosophies of the emotionally weak -- philosophies in which one sinks or swims by the perception of others.
So, while it is very hurtful to have to go through, and share, such pain with so many family and friends it would be more hurtful still to have kept the last three weeks of joy, promise, hope, terror and dispair to myself. To have removed from those around me the insight into my life that I publish every day.
Some people get it and others cannot. But it's the way I live my life, and it is certainly a life uncommon.
When Linda and I started trying to have a baby in June we did not know how long it would take us to conceive, but we told people anyway. We laughed because it coincided with our cruise. Our family and friends dubbed it the 2005 "scruise". Did we know at the time it would only take us 2.5 months to conceive? No! Did we care? No! Would we have cared if it took us 12 months? 16 months? No! It was an important milestone in our lives, and one we wanted to share with those we felt close to.
What is the possible benefit of holding our hopes and our fears like poker cards -- close to our chest so that no others can see?
-Ed
posted by Ed at 4:00 PM
1 Comments:
Would it be completely tackless then to say:
"Have fun trying again!"
Or is there a greating card that covers that?
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