Will you still walk with me?

It is very hard for anyone to truly walk in someone else’s shoes. A distant friend of mine contacted me this week to share her experience and thank me for finding the strength to write mine down. It touched me deeply and got me thinking.

Our experiences are very different and I will never fully understand her situation and even if it happened to me, it would be different as we have different life experiences. So I thought that what if instead of walking in their shoes how about we walk with them. When their experiences are life changing or difficult to relate to how about we find the courage to still walk with them.

So, I’m going to explain myself by asking you to walk with me. I have to go outside. My adorable dog is looking at me with those big brown expectant eyes. She wants a walk. You see life goes on, even though mine has stopped as our 6th baby just died.

Before I can even open the door and face the world I have the struggle of what to wear and whether to put any make up on. The chances are nothing is going to fit me or look ok as I’ve put on pregnancy weight and my body hasn’t returned to its normal. My boobs have remained bigger because I was pregnant yet there are no babies for me to cradle in my arms. Does this matter you might ask? I just don’t want to draw any unwanted attention to myself. Do I put make up on? The mascara will probably end up running down my face making me look like something from a horror film!

The sun is shining outside so everyone seems to be in a happy and talkative mood! Fear and dread overcomes me. Maybe I should put on my sunglasses to hide my red, blotchy and narrowed eyes from all the crying.

Flick (our dog) is getting excited. She knows the routine…I get ready and then we go out! Her tail is wagging and she has become playful. Oh those eyes! My grief has to be put on hold when everyday tasks need to be carried out. I need to wear the mask, put on the expected facade. So I open the front door to the world and we leave the house. Are you still walking with me?

When my mum died I found I would walk for miles and miles yet losing my babies I find I don’t want to be out too long. The grief is very different and my confidence has taken a battering. We will walk to the field then come home.

A neighbour that knows us stops to say hello. She knows about the loss of our identical twins as I had a bump and then it was gone. She is kind hearted and sent her condolences at that time. She is keen for us to fall pregnant again. She doesn’t know that we have had three more pregnancies since then. She doesn’t know about the IVF twins, the operation due to heterotopic pregnancy. She doesn’t know about the biochemistry miscarriage or the fact that I am miscarrying now.

She opens her mouth to speak. A wave of anxiety runs through my body. I know what is coming. The words bounce around in the air…”you have a glow about you, anything to announce”? I curse those pregnancy hormones that have made my hair look good and my skin clear (mainly due to sustaining from alcohol).

The internal dilemma strikes again. Do I say “actually I’m currently miscarrying”? Or do I deny this baby and the others with a simple “Not yet”? I decide to tell the truth as I stand for honesty and openness about pregnancy loss. Her face drops and she passes on her sympathy. There is a haste to end the conversation and move on with her day. She walks away and I wonder if she will want to talk to me again or will she cross the road to avoid me.

Hot tears form in my eyes and I fight to keep them there and not have them running down my cheeks. A wailing banshee is not what I want to show in public! I hold my shoulders back and find the courage to walk a little further. Are you still walking with me?

I pass a mother walking down the street. She is stressed and reprimanding her children. She curses lockdown and homeschooling as she passes adding the fly away comment “children who’d have them”! She laughs and smiles as she walks away.

The tears start to trickle down my face. My inner voice is screaming “I want them and would do anything to have my own”! I wonder if she thinks I’m really rude as I can’t bring myself to smile or respond. I scurry along wiping my tears away. Are you still walking with me?

Flick is oblivious and desperate to get to the field with her ball. Her energy and fluffiness gains attention from doting people as they pass with cheerful good mornings and sweet remarks about her. I smile and respond but I think to myself what is so good about this morning? Are you still walking with me?

At last we reach the field. It has felt like an eternity when in reality it is a 10 minute walk from my house. I’m hopeful that the big open field will result in less encounters. My hope disappears almost immediately when I bump into some regular dog walkers that have become friends.

I find the strength to stop and talk. I put on that facade that they have come to expect, the happy go lucky girl that I usually am. We talk about the mundane as normal. We ask after each other but I don’t mention this recent loss. I feel like I’m betraying the baby that is still inside me. I feel emotionally exhausted and I’ve only been out half hour! We say our goodbyes and move on. Are you still walking with me?

As I walk around and the dog runs after her ball we turn a corner and to come face to face with a woman we know well. She is heavily pregnant with her first baby. She is kind hearted and will be a wonderful mum. She knows about our identical twins as we met her when I was clearly pregnant with them. Almost two years ago on a similar sunny day.

She is so nice she avoids talking about her pregnancy. She is expecting in less than a month so the bump is literally the elephant in the room! From somewhere inside I find the ability to ask about her pregnancy and how she is feeling. I ask about the plans with her birth considering lockdown. I show a genuine interest because she is a lovely woman. We say goodbye and I turn another corner.

That’s when it happens! The wailing banshee has escaped. The grief and desire to be a biological mum (to living babies) has taken over. I’m going to have to walk the more sheltered and back way home. I don’t want people to stop me and ask me if I’m ok. I don’t want to talk about our losses with people that may say flippant comments with good intentions but have no true understanding of our experiences and losses.

It feels like a long hard walk to get home. I’m embarrassed and annoyed with myself. I want to ask you, are you still walking with me?

I get to the door of my house and walk inside with huge relief. I’m going to take of my make up off and put on some comfortable clothes. I’m going to stay indoors now as I don’t want to face the everyday world. I probably won’t talk to anyone now because it’s easier. I’ll try and find some chores to fill my day as I don’t want to sit around feeling low and crying, although that would be very easy to do!

You see, you may not be able to walk in my shoes and I may not be able to walk in yours but we can always walk together side by side during the darkest and hardest of days. So I ask you again will you still walk with me?