I want to extend my sincerest apologies to everyone—my friends and family—who have had to bear with me since the heart-wrenching loss of my daughter last year. Losing Cate has made me a less-than-ideal friend, and I fully recognize that being around me can be quite draining. There are days when I’m still enveloped in sadness, and even on the days I seem fine, I can’t help but mention her as if she were still here. I know that this can make others feel uneasy.
I understand that discussing my loss, especially given its profound nature, can be uncomfortable. Many people don’t want to hear about my advocacy efforts, and I get that. It’s frustrating because I can’t seem to escape this cycle—I’m either moping around, pretending to be happy, or going on and on about something that most folks would rather avoid. My life has become dominated by memories of my infant daughter and her twin sister, who we tragically lost. I’ve thrown myself into political activism, researching legislation, writing articles, and reaching out to my representatives—something I never imagined I’d do.
I realize I don’t inquire about your lives nearly as much as I should. In my mind, I find myself playing the “pain Olympics,” even though I know it’s not fair. If you’re facing a challenge, I often think, “Well, I lost a child.” It’s a ridiculous and unfair comparison, and we all know it. Deep down, I truly care about what you’re experiencing, and I hope that’s clear.
Yet, I find it hard to apologize for how I’ve changed. The infertility journey my husband and I endured, coupled with a loss that many cannot fathom, has altered me at my core. The very essence of who I am is different from just over a year ago. Facing the reality that both of your children might not survive if you don’t act decisively is devastating. You make choices that haunt you for a lifetime, carrying the weight of both a living child and one that has passed for weeks as you try to hold yourself together.
In the wake of this experience, I’ve become rather self-centered, and I’m sorry for that. I hope we can work towards regaining a balanced relationship. Please share your victories, struggles, vacations, and even the amusing antics of your pets with me. I’ll be here to listen, and I hope you’ll lend an ear as I express my fears about parenting my living child and the latest political developments I’m passionate about.
I love you and miss you dearly, and I promise to make a conscious effort to be a better friend. If you’re interested in learning more about home insemination, check out this informative post on intracervical insemination and explore the artificial insemination kit for more insights. For further resources, the Center at UCSF is an excellent place to start.
In Summary
I recognize the impact of my loss on my friendships and the need for balance in our relationships. I value your experiences and hope we can reconnect, sharing both the joys and challenges of life together.