The Good Son

In his family, SS was the good son. The one his dad could be proud of. The child who respected, and probably feared, the father; the child who did not look back unfavorably on the years spent in his dad's care. His dad died about eight years ago. Two weeks after Blue died, when SS told me he was "moving on," I asked him how long it took him to move on after his dad died. "A year." The words hit me physically. My stomach was sick.

I know that SS had unresolved grief from that loss. I know that SS felt some generalized hurt and sadness over the connection of father to son, son to father. But I have too much hurt and anger about the way SS treated me, not just after Blue died, but from when we first learned Blue was alive. I can't help SS. SS doesn't want to be helped. He doesn't want to name his baby. He didn't want to see him, he didn't want to feel him moving around inside me, even when he didn't know his baby was going to die. Who knows what SS has been doing the past three months? But he says "things are coming into focus."

Just when I thought I was going to send off a sarcastic email, for "closure," he IM'ed me. A friend from Colorado sent me a package that was delivered to his place. I had already decided to hold off on the email, actually, but I thought I would ignore any attempts of his (ha!) to get in touch with me. Here's the conversation:

SS:  How are you?

 me:  OK. A lot better. You?

 SS:  Better.... Things are starting to come into focus... I was dazed...

 me:  ???

 SS:  Just in a fog for the loss of the little guy...

 Sent at 1:46 PM on Wednesday

 me:  I figured that is what you are talking about.

what's coming into focus?

 Sent at 1:48 PM on Wednesday

 SS:  I am now able to focus... starting to exercise, work is coming together. I can see beyond the grief of the loss.

Got on the scale... 215lbs..!!! WTF!!!

 Sent at 1:56 PM on Wednesday

 me:  have you been getting any help? reaching out to anyone?

 Sent at 1:58 PM on Wednesday

 SS:  Not Professional help... Talked a little bit with friends. Reaching out is not my style.

 Sent at 2:02 PM on Wednesday

 SS:  Glad you are doing better. Mom and relatives are in town.

Need to spend time with them. Happy Thanksgiving.

I probably do not need to explain to anyone how unsatisfactory this exchange was. First of all, like I didn't know what he meant when he said he was dazed. Oh, we're talking about our dead baby? Oh, now I see. Then we have the chit-chatty "I got fat" comment. Not getting any sympathy from me, ya shit stain. Moving on to "reaching out..." Those are the most extraneous words I've ever heard. "Glad you are doing better." Really? Why? "Happy Thanksgiving." Go fucking fuck yourself you pitiful excuse for a human being. You mean the Thanksgiving we expected to be spending with our newborn? Well, I will not be having a Happy Thanksgiving. I don't think you should be either.

I didn't say anything after that. The thing is, as far as he knows, nothing was wrong. In the world of SS, no reply is necessary after his last comment. Now I am thinking more about sending the email I wanted to send. The email that I thought would help me, but after talking it over with Therapist A, realized it would not in fact help me. The email that I thought was not about wanting an apology, or about getting him to change. I just figured out that's not true. I want an apology. A realization that he's sorry about the way stuff happened. I want a realization on his part that he was wrong. Not because he was wrong and I was right. I'm not sure that I was right. But I am sure he was wrong. Why do I need him to know this himself? I think that talking to him will bring me closure. We never talked. About anything. I am a talker and a sharer; he is not. But how can two people go through something like losing their baby, and never talk about it? He's not going to talk about it. Ever. Not with me, not with anyone. And he's not going to change. And if we have no future together, I don't need to care, right? I guess I want him to admit that he didn't love me, that he didn't want to survive this with me. Confess to the fact that he kept me in the relationship even though it was all a sham. I don't know if he even knows that. But I do. He is not fooling me. No, no, I am fooling myself, fooling myself for thinking I will ever get to have the conversation with him that brings me closure. This is the reality; repeat after me:

We never talked. I left. We never talked.