"You're ok, right? About your baby."You don't even know me. Leave me alone. I can't listen to this again.
NO. I am not ok. And that's ok. It will never be ok to me that my babies died. Just because I'm not ok doesn't mean that I can't function or that I can't be happy.
"Because this happens all the time, you know."
Yes. Babies die all the time. Sons die and daughters die and husbands die. All the time. Does that make it ok? How dare you tell me how I need to be.
"You have two wonderful boys. You need to be grateful for them. And Brandon is a great husband. You need to take care of him so you can keep him around."
You don't know me if you think it's necessary to tell me to be grateful for my sons and husband. You don't know me if you think it's appropriate to imply that I am not a good wife just because I grieve for my babies. That's right. Babies plural, but we're not acknowledging our tiny baby Auburn in this conversation. We are barely acknowledging that my baby who is my daughter and has a name is anything other than something that I need to get over. Well fuck you. If you think that my husband would leave me because I grieve for our babies then you do not know us, and you certainly do not know him.
"Life isn't fair you know. Brandon is such a great husband..."
If you think that I am so stupid to think that life is fair then you do not know me. If you think that I cannot simultaneously grieve and be a kick ass mom, wife, teacher, writer, nerdfighter, then you do not know me. Step away and don't look back. I don't care what you have endured. You have no right. No fucking right.
There. Now maybe next time I will say what I need to say.