I was going to blame my desire to write this post on the fact that taking Prednisone is making me really bitchy. However, I've been wanting to write this kind of post for a long time, I just never had the balls to write it. So, being that I couldn't work up the nerve to ask the hubby to borrow his (contrary to what a lot of people out there think, I do not in fact, carry them around in a little silk bag in my purse!), I suppose maybe the Prednisone might have nudged me to actually publishing the damned thing.
I think it's fair to say that there is a whole wide world of blogs out there for you to choose from. There are blogs on every topic from the very basic mommy-blog, to blogs about cars, music, and cooking, to zoology and a million more in between. There's pretty much something for everyone out there. Hell, you don't even have to read a blog. Pick up a book, a newspaper or even the back of the tampon box while you're sitting in the loo! But that's kind of my point. There's a reason you're reading the blogs you do, whether it's because you relate, you empathize, you wince, you laugh, you agree or disagree or you just enjoy the the writer's style of telling his or her story.
Even if you're sitting there shaking your head and rolling your eyes so far back into your head that you might be mistaken for Linda Blair from The Exorcist, you are in fact still sitting there reading the blog.
Lately I've gotten comments and emails that go a little something like this...
"Audrey, I can't stand that you're dealing with your past in such a public way. It's killing me to watch you do this! It's too painful!"
"You're a baby killer and God taking your son is an eye for an eye for having an abortion! You should be ashamed of yourself for even writing about this! An idiot could put two and two together and figure it out!"
"I wanted to write to you and tell you that you shouldn't handle your life in the wide world like this. It's not proper."
"Not only have you doomed yourself to hell for killing an innocent child, but there's a special place in the Devil's home for people who abandon their children. Your blog upsets me so much! I spit on you!"
From an email forward:
"I cannot believe she is exploiting her life the way she is, especially exploiting her dead little boy. That just takes a lot of nerve! What is it with women trying to make money off of their dead babies? And what does she want pity for her foreclosure? Shouldn't have bought more house than they could afford! It's people like her that are the reason good people like my brother can't get a mortgage!"
OK so you see where I'm going with this, right?
First of all, no one can force you to read a blog. NO ONE. If the content of the blog upsets you so much that you felt compelled to write to me (or someone else, because I know I'm not the only person in the blogosphere that gets a lot of crap for the content she posts on what is her personal space!), and complain, then by all means, close the window and don't read my blog. Then, once you've done that, if you still feel like you have a broken heart, or are in some kind of pain, take an aspirin and go lay down for a while. Trust me, the outrage will pass.
As far as suggesting to me that the way I'm handling my past is improper, are you a licensed professional that can make that sort of judgment without having sat down with me and gone over my life in precise detail? Or do you just get off on playing armchair psychiatrist?
For those of you who insist on characterizing me as a baby killer, your time would be better spent casting aspersions on those who are actually guilty of committing a crime and not trying to condemn a grown woman for something she did over 25 years ago - a decision she made that was the best for her at that time.
If I have indeed sentenced myself to an afterlife in the fiery pits of Hell, well, I'm going to make the best of it! Perhaps I'll get that tan that has eluded me for most of my grown life.
I've saved the best for last. The snarkers, the haters, the people who claim that our blogs make them stabby or apoplectic. Yet they can't seem to pull themselves away from their damned computers long enough to take a deep breath and realize that the only reason they keep reading and then snarking on certain blogs is because it fills some sort of vacancy or deficiency in their own lives. They're the rubberneckers in the blogosphere, just like the ones in the cars who slow traffic to a grinding halt because they are compelled to stare at the carnage on the asphalt in front of them; some even whipping out their cell phones and capturing the blood on the highway to post to their Facebook or Twitter streams.
If what you're reading upsets you so badly, then why the hell are you reading it in the first place? I don't get it so I'd love it if you could explain it to me. Oh, and please use small words that a simpleton like myself can understand. You won't though. You'll just stop and gawk at this post and then go and spew more garbage on the walls of your snarker kingdom because it fills some sort of sad void in your life.
I really take umbrage with individuals who waste time writing about those of us who have lost children and have chosen to write about how that loss has shaped our lives or have used this medium - our personal space on the web, to deal with the pain, anguish and feelings of utter sorrow in order to help deal with the grief. Then they turn around and accuse us of exploiting our dead children.
Mothers like myself, we use our words in this place we call the blogosphere in order to try and purge some of the pain we're feeling. Maybe those attempts are futile but in some small measure, for most of us, it gives us a tiny bit of release from the constant throbbing reminder of the huge empty space that now inhabits our bodies where once a beautiful child existed. I think I can speak for several bereaved parents who openly write about their loss when I say that we are grateful for those other parents or family members who take the time to reach out to us and empathize with our sadness, or for those who offer love and support in our time of need.
The above could also apply to people who are in the throws of a deep depression, financial crisis, or even those who have traveled a similar road that I have when it comes to being an absentee parent. You might not ever know the immense solace I take when reading an email from someone who has written to tell me that they have never had the courage to write [or even speak openly] about their depression, or the fact that they were a mother who didn't have primary custody of her children. It's reassuring to me to know that I'm not the only one out there who is going through or who has gone through this.
My point is, there's no basis in reality to the claims that we're exploiting anything, be it our dead children, our depression, our struggles, or in some cases, our current children - another topic popular with snarkers everywhere...that this generation of children being raised by the more prolific bloggers out there are going to be a generation that spends it's free time on the couches of therapists the world over. I'm not saying it doesn't happen. What I am saying is that I think the word "exploit" doesn't apply in the case of most of us using this medium to share our life experiences.
For those of you who are so upset over what's being written all over the walls of the blogosphere by the gifted and not-so-gifted writers alike, here's a suggestion. It's simple. Close the window. No really. CLOSE THE WINDOW. There is no one sitting there threatening to throw you in Gitmo if you don't read the propaganda (I'm using your words, not mine!) we're spreading. There is a plethora of other material available for your perusal.
However, if you still find yourself sitting there, unable to close the window of whatever blog it is that makes you see red, could it possibly be that you're taking great pleasure in the fact that your life seems somehow superior to the person you're reading about? Maybe you're celebrating the fact that you're not losing a home, that your financial situation is healthy, or that you haven't ever had to give your former spouse custody of your children? Or maybe you're sitting there wrapping your arms around yourself and saying a simple prayer of thankfulness that you've never had to bury one of your own children?
Whatever it is that brings you to the blogs you claim to hate, or those that upset you, it's not something that's holding you here. You have the freedom to close the window and walk away and celebrate your perfect lives.

