Partners: a kitchen table post

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This installment of “At the Kitchen Table” is about partners. Kitchen table posts are ones where each of the regular writers at Glow in the Woods answers a series of questions on a particular topic. The topic of grief and partners pops up a lot in our brainstorming for these posts but feels underrepresented to us in babyloss-focused spaces. In this post, we reflect on our own experiences grieving with or alongside partners and in relationships. Our thoughts reflect our particular experiences, but we know, too, that there are many many other experiences and types of relationships in the wider babyloss community. We know that not everyone goes through babyloss with a partner, that not all relationships survive the experience, and that not all relationships are like the ones we represent at our "kitchen table." We’d like to invite you to pull up a chair at the table and share with us, if you like. We’ll pour you a cup and pass the cookies. We’re always glad you found us. 

Did you and your partner grieve differently? How?

Emily: I struggled to do or care about anything. My husband focused on caring for everything. I think he liked being busy and having things to do. 

Kathy:  Nearly 6 years later, my grief is still chaotic and unpredictable while his is more controlled and measured. I’m quite “loud” about my grief but he is quiet. That might just be a reflection of our personalities. In the early days I was maniacally productive but my energy was devoted to taking care of our living children and to organizing my grief (starting/writing my blog, visiting Tinsley every day, reading grief books, etc).  My husband also stayed very busy but he found his solace at the office. I also believe he found great purpose and comfort in holding me while I wept.

Nori: In some areas, we are very aligned. Keeping traditions around Olivia’s birthday and having keepsakes and jewelry to remember her are things that are equally important to both of us. But in the early days, I was much more visibly emotional - crying, angry at people for doing or saying the wrong thing - while my partner was more stoic. He didn’t allow himself to completely fall apart the way I did. He wanted to be more escapist rather than wallowing in sadness. 

Jo-Anne: Most of the time I felt like falling apart. I couldn't care less about anything in those early days especially. My husband was supportive but he was a silent griever and as harsh as this may sound, I judged him for it. I didn't mean to; I just did. To me, he didn't talk about our loss enough or fall apart enough but I know it didn't hurt any less. I wrote about my feelings a lot; he bottled it in. He wanted rituals; I didn't. It took time for me to accept and understand how differently we all grieve.

Jen: We did grieve differently. I was more in my body and he was more in his head, I think. I often think about how as the person who carried and delivered Anja, I had a very different connection to her. That difference is erased - or at least hugely minimized - when a living baby is born and the other partner holds and feeds and has skin-to-skin time with him or her. I was missing Anja from my body and with my body; physically, I was bleeding, sore, my milk was coming in, I had night sweats, etc. and emotionally, I felt the physical emptiness of her being gone. That was a real difference in our grief and I have thought over the years about how I was lucky to have that physical aspect to grief - a tangible loss to hang on to. Another difference that stands out to me was the way that I wanted to be left alone and he wanted to be physically close. I was so tapped out by the physical effects on my body and the demands (physical and emotional) of caring for our just turned three year old that I craved alone time and I had no desire to be touched or held; he was lonely, confused and needing comfort, which for him very much included touch and intimacy. That was hard for us for a long time. 

How did grieving affect your relationship with your partner?

Emily: I feel like this may not be as common, but grief brought my husband and I closer. We both shared this horrible thing and no one else could even begin to understand it at the level that we did. 

Kathy: I realized early on that no one in the world could ever really know me again except him – because he was the other half of her, and we had buried her together. I have heard that the death of a child either breaks a couple apart or pushes them closer together. Although I certainly feel frustrated sometimes that my grief seems to drop bombs at my feet regularly but they rarely detonate at his, and that can make me feel misunderstood (see poem below), we are now held together by a kind of spiritual superglue formed and dried by her dying. I also think that surviving the traumatic experiences of pregnancy after loss strengthened our bond. And the gratitude and reverent love we have for our living children drives our parenting style…and that is no small thing on which to be aligned. 

Nori: In the first year, it was a huge challenge to our relationship. Grieving differently was certainly part of that. Both of us being depressed at the same time made it hard for us to want to put positive energy towards our relationship. We were maybe both feeling self-destructive; we didn’t have any living children to focus on at the time. But over time, we have stayed together and moved more towards what Kathy describes: being very aligned on what’s important in life and our love for our children. 

Jo-Anne: We stood together against grief, our common enemy, especially that first year. Whilst our method of grieving differed, we had each other's backs. Still do. Whilst we did all we could for our family, and always will, in truth the impact of loss, changed us as people and in turn negatively impacted our relationship. I can only talk for myself, but depression seeped in and I wasn't the same person any more and that has been one of the repercussions we're still working through. 

Jen: This is a hard question for me to answer because it’s been so long and we’ve been through a lot together; I’m not sure I can parse out what grief for Anja specifically has done to our relationship. I do think that in some ways we grew closer. Like others have said, we experienced a profound loss together and we are the only ones who love Anja in the particular way that parents love their children. This bonds us together forever and I often feel the strength of that bond. We’re not always perfectly aligned on how to mark anniversaries and sometimes I’m frustrated with his need to keep things private and internal. Sometimes I know I’m selfish and expect “special treatment” as Anja’s mother, even as I decry the way others ignore or downplay men’s grief, and that is not good for us as a couple either. Managing grief on top of everything else that needs managing in a young family absolutely puts extra strain on a relationship. Kathy’s poem below talks about the silences that grow and fester; we have our share of those, for sure. 

Have you found that mothers and fathers are treated differently in their grief, or that different attitudes exist about grief based on gender and parenting roles? 

Emily: I think that as the mother, I received a lot of outside attention and focus that my husband did not receive. 

Kathy: My husband lingered in my grief shadow, and still does…If he stepped out and asked to be seen, would he be? I don’t know. 

Nori: Echoing the others, it felt really brutal the way my partner was expected to immediately return to work and just be fine, while everyone treated me so delicately for so long. I stayed off work for months and then returned only part time for a while. Even looking around at Glow, which has been such a supportive place for me - it’s mostly mothers. I would like to make it a more welcoming place for all parents, and I’ve been happy to have several recent guest posts by fathers. 

Jo-Anne: There was a bit more attention on me initially, from those around us, but many people treated us similarly. I found that society was more focused on bereaved mothers. Fathers seemed to slip into our shadow. I found that even my husband himself took a step back and focused on my grief more than his own.

a grief honeymoon 
by Kathy

her maternity photos are so glowing… hopeful…confident…
so committed to an inevitable happy ending

i cringe and i rage at them!
i curse facebook and fairytales!
a storm kicks up dust around my insides
— but i do not tell him

my grief suffocates us, and his lungs are short
so my thoughts stay hidden
our marriage starts to grow a mold
around silence he misses or misunderstands

i stare at him across the kitchen table
trying to place the man he was before she died
but it is an unbearable thought

so i quietly push it aside,
serve a plate of his favorite lasagna
and ask him about his day

We invite you to answer any of the questions in the comments, or to share in whatever way you like. Thank you as always for reading with us.