New me disappointment

I am almost certain that anyone who has lost a child would agree he/she is permanently changed in several ways -- some dramatic and obvious and others so subtle they go virtually unnoticed by even the closest of friends and family. I've been thinking about those more subtle changes in myself... especially now that I'm supposed to be truly living my "new normal" life without my firstborn. This is the new me, right? I'm supposed to really like and be proud of who I have become as a result of my precious boy. And, truly, although I would say TO HELL with the changes in my life if I could have another day with my B.W., I do view most of my metamorphosis as positive. Problem is - some of these subtle changes just really stink.

One of those invisible changes that has bothered me for some time is my ability or lack thereof to cope with large-ish or new-ish social situations, big groups of friends (close and otherwise) and crowds. Before B.W.'s death, I was always up for getting together with a big group, no matter the occasion. I could make conversation, from small talk to intimate/intense discussion, rather easily and comfortably with anyone. It really didn't matter if it was a room of friends or a party where I hardly knew anyone. I prided myself on being a good and quick read on the character of a person. I made friends easily with those I deemed character-worthy, and tried to listen and patiently interact as authentically as possible even with those people I disliked or deemed character-less (for lack of a better term). At least one of those friendships made casually has turned into one of the closest and most authentic relationships I have today.

Immediately after B.W.'s death, like many bereaved mothers, I retreated from social gatherings and interactions. I literally couldn't participate. And when I tried, I failed miserably. I learned quickly that this was normal for someone enduring the tragic death of a child and came to accept that I was going to dislike crowds, parties, social situations, even getting together with groups of friends, for a while.

Unfortunately, for me, "a while" has become indefinitely. Now let me clarify... for those people who are going to assume that I'm not healing appropriately, or that my time table for that healing is much too slow, or whatever... (Actually, I don't think many people are actually reading this blog, and the readers are mostly bereaved mothers, so I probably have nothing to worry about.) I no longer retreat like I did in the year following B.W.'s death. I do participate in social interactions and gatherings more. I do try to enjoy myself and am sometimes successful at it. And, almost always, I am able to put on a really good front (which might actually be unhealthy in itself), but I still really dread this stuff.

Why? I don't know, but it's clear it's virtually always related to B.W.'s death. Sometimes I dread seeing someone who has never acknowledged B.W.'s short life and death and the obviously tragic loss for our family. Sometimes it's because I know there will be shock and awe on peoples' faces when they hear I have a dead son (as the topic of family/children inevitably comes up in conversation) and then their avoidance of me after they hear our story. Other times it's because I don't have the energy to try and avoid the topic of my dead child by dodging people or keeping my conversation at a very surface level. Sometimes I know I won't be able to stand the small talk or the blissful ignorance of the people we will see and interact with. The list really goes on and on, but it's usually related to B.W. or my new life/world view -- the new me -- as a result of his death.

This is a change that I am not particularly excited about for a few reasons. First, it means I am worrying too much about what others think as it relates to my deceased son (I guess that's the protective mother in me). Second, I am not enjoying social and group interactions much anymore... and perhaps never will in the same way I was capable of before B.W.'s death. I am also not allowing new, potentially great friendships the opportunity to grow through these interactions.

Just another element of my former self to mourn, I suppose. It's not the end of the world. I bet hardly anyone notices. It's just I didn't expect, at least at the onset of my life without B.W., this aspect of my life to be so permanently different.