Without a doubt the hardest thing for us “strong silent” types to handle is what to do when it all falls apart whether it be a miscarriage or a failed infertility cycle.
Instinctively, we want to fix it, we want exact revenge on the party that inflicted pain on our loved one, and we want to develop a game plan to achieve success.
Most of time this is exactly what our loved one DOESN’T need.
About 4 or 5 years into our parenthood pursuits, the mere utterance of any response, whether it be supportive or defensive was like nail on a chalkboard to Lisa. I didn’t get it.
“I’m on your side!” I would scream and she would run out of the room in tears screaming I didn’t understand along with some other expletives that essentially described what a jerk I was.
Our first miscarriage was devastating. It happened one week before our 10th wedding anniversary, and against doctors orders, Lisa and I made our trek up Highway 101 staying at bed and breakfasts all the way up to Napa to celebrate a decade of marriage together.
While we were in La Jolla, Lisa walked into a little strip mall, and a lady in a new age shop began chatting with her. I didn’t pay much attention to them, until Lisa walked out of the shop sobbing.
When I asked her what it was, she told me the woman had put her hand on Lisa’s stomach and said “you’re holding onto this baby”. That’s when it hit me.
Every time Lisa changed her pad, she was seeing a part of our baby dying. I realized how trite and almost moronic my words, game plans and revenge plots must have seemed to her.
I posted recently the words to a song that I wrote a few months after that –So Far So Good, that was recently featured in Resolve’s summer newsletter that was inspired by the spirit of the baby we lost that year.
For some reason, after that, it became easier for me to express my feelings in writing and music, than verbally with Lisa when it came to the topic of grieving a fertility related loss. I think it works for me because the process of creating a song is connected spiritually– in a similar way that the spirit of an unborn baby connects with a woman trying to create a child.
I finally managed to break months of silence and begin the healing, when I wrote the lyrics to a song called “A Soft Place To Fall”. The “he” in the song referenced the baby we lost on our tenth anniversary. We were always sure that baby was a boy, and I was finally able to reconnect to Lisa when she heard the song for the first time.
Really, at the end of the day, I think the best thing we can do as guys is keep our mouths shut, and provide a “soft place to fall” for the tears that inevitably follow the loss of potential motherhood.
Here are the lyrics:
A SOFT PLACE TO FALL
I always thought I knew how to get you through
Times when you were feeling your heart break
But tears still fill your eyes since he said goodbye
No matter what I say or do
I know there’s no way I can fill up the space
His leaving has left in your soul
One thing I can do is give my shoulder to you
When you feel like you’re losing it all
So your tears always have
A soft place to fall
Don’t get me wrong—I know you’re strong
I’m sure you can survive this on your own
But your secret’s safe with me if you feel a little weak
And just don’t want to be alone
I know there’s no way I can fill up the space
His leaving has left in your soul
One thing I can do is give my shoulder to you
When you feel like you’re losing it all
So your tears always have
A soft place to fall
If I had wings I’d fly straight to heaven’s gate
Offer up my soul in trade if God would take your pain away
I know there’s no way I can fill up the space
His leaving has left in your soul
One thing I can do is give my shoulder to you
When you feel like you’re losing it all
So your tears always have
A soft place to fall
© Words and Music Denny Ceizyk 2001