what not to say: a primer

As we're preparing to leave our home, I've thought a lot about the memories we've made and experiences we've lived while here. And I've been thinking about our failed adoption a lot. More than I've expected to at this point, almost nine months out. If you've read my early archives, you might have read a little about the twins we lost. We were matched with their birthmom 1 month before she was due. We spent a week with her in PA before the birth. I spent 16 hours with her the day the were born. I held the boys when they were minutes old. We held them and loved them for three days. We named them. Benjamin and Elijah. Ben and Eli. If what you read earlier was from the January archives, you got a very rosy picture of the situation. I was in a very hopeful period then. Now realisim has set in completely. I can't go back and read what I wrote then because I'm afraid that I might be upset with myself for being so silly, so hopeful. Why am I writing this now? Because in reflecting on that period, I heard a lot of comments that dug the knife in deeper, and I allowed myself to be hurt more. I was never mad because of what was said, just hurt. Now, this far out, I realize even more than I did at the time that most people have very little - if any - experience with this type of situation. So, here's some things not to say. "At least you have one at home." The failed adoption was like a death to us. We hoped and prayed for a child, then found out we would be parents to twins! We planned for a month for those twins, who we both knew were boys from the minute we were matched (the birthmom didn't know the gender of either baby until birth). We held the babies, took pictures, named them, announced their birth to family and friends via phone and e-mail, received baby gifts, wrote thank-you notes, bought clothes and bottles and formula. And then, when they were three days old, they were gone forever. If we had birthed those children and lost them to death at three days old, their loss would not have been made easier by coming home to Jacob. "It was meant to be." We'll just leave that one at that. This isn't something that anyone going through a difficult time is comforted by hearing. "Maybe you can raise them on the other side of the veil." I didn't want to raise them on the other side of the veil. I wanted those babies in my arms. Right then. Right now. "It must be what's best." 1 - even if that was true, that is a hurtful thing to hear: their current situation is better for them than what they could've had with you. 2 - it's far from the truth. The boys were taken out of the hospital into a very dangerous, perilous situation which I won't detail right now. "Maybe this happened so they could have someone to pray for them forever." Ouch. God would put us in a situation to lose a ton of money, lots of hope (temporarily), and go through an almost unbearable amount of pain just to make sure there would be two people to always pray for these boys? Not that it's an impossible scenario, but I choose to believe that God wouldn't do that. He didn't do that in this situation. "You'll be ok soon/this too shall pass." Healing comes over time for any pain, that is true. But when you're in the midst of intense sadness, confusion and despair, this comment just feels like someone is trying to dismiss all your very real emotions.