Tag Archives: loss

Hope and Grief

I suppose I had better get this out of the way.

Without putting too fine a point on it, I am no longer pregnant.

It has been a week now and although grief has a nasty way of winding you when you least expect it, coming over you in unexpected waves as it does, I think I am starting to see light at the end of the long dark tunnel and I hope I can look forward to some better days soon.

We hadn’t planned this pregnancy at all – we had given up a long time ago (although I never stopped being broody and wishing for more babies) but I had more or less come to terms with the fact that, at 45, more babies weren’t very likely.

This was my 6th loss too, which seems far more than my ‘fair share’.

Anyway. I need to fold up all my hopes and dreams and plans of babies and young children and lay them back in the ‘hope chest’ and lock it away for now.

Plan B?

I’m not ready to think about that yet.

Shiva: Death, mourning and hope in Jewish Tradition

ברוך אתה ה’ א‑לוהינו מלך העולם, דיין האמת
Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam, dayan ha-emet.
“Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the universe, the Just Judge.”
After 4 years of trying, hoping and praying since my last loss, and 13 years in total, and finally after giving up completely, I was unexpectedly blessed with pregnancy again.

Sadly this pregnancy ended in miscarriage at 10 weeks, my 6th loss in total.

There are no funerals for miscarriages, no burials. No family get-together, no ‘sitting Shiva’ together. It is a special kind of grief, more lonely and perhaps harder to navigate than any other type of grief, because in our culture pregnancy loss is still taboo, something we still can’t quite face or discuss openly, and thus the sufferer is largely without comfort or understanding.

The traditional period of mourning in Jewish Tradition is 7 days (thus ‘Shiva’, related to the word 7). But the reality is that grief doesn’t follow a neat progression and cannot possibly be restrained within a 7 day period.

The loss of a child isn’t ‘just’ the loss of a baby right at that moment, but the loss of all the hopes and dreams – the loss of that child’s whole life – years and decades and life events that we thought was ahead of them. And even if a mother is graced with another child, this kind of loss changes you, and you always carry that little bit of sadness with you. You never ‘get over’ loss of a child.

I thought I had completely given up and resigned myself to not having any more babies, to ending my family on a loss. Now though of course, I find old wounds re-opened and longings renewed.

But for now, I mourn. 

Mourner’s kaddish
Jewish perspective on miscarriage and stillbirth
Mourning a Jewish miscarriage 
Jewish Prayer after miscarriage or stillbirth

Red Herrings 

In May we started the process of buying a flat. It was beautiful and big, but it had no garden or parking, no garage or storage, and it would have necessitated moving towns amongst other things. It seemed like a good idea at the time – it was a nice town that we all liked and we already had friends there.

But then I discovered that I was very unexpectedly pregnant and the lack of garden and parking suddenly seemed more problematic. The final decision not to go ahead was influenced by the fact that middle son felt very strongly indeed about changing schools (as in”I’d rather die!”) and daughter didn’t even get the place we had been assured was hers for the taking at Sixth Form in the same school.

So we said goodbye to the lovely big flat, with no clear vision of where to go or any obvious options other than staying in the housing association house that’s so unsuitable.

But then… I’m not pregnant anymore.

 I rather wish we had a move to look forward to, as the future is looking pretty bleak right now.

This was my 6th loss through miscarriage and since I’m 45 now, there’s no guarantee at all that there will be any more pregnancies or even any more conception (this baby was 4 long years in the making).

And so I’m beyond sad. I’m absolutely broken and bereft. I can’t see any light, only tunnel.

And the worst thing about all this is that we weren’t really trying to conceive anymore. We had given up. And I was more or less, reluctantly resigned to the idea that there wouldn’t be any more babies. 

But now? I can suddenly vividly remember the feeling I had after I lost my twins all those years ago – the feeling that I could more than understand the desperation of bereaved mothers who go on to steal other mothers’ babies. It becomes an all-consuming obsession to somehow obtain that which you cannot have.

Despite my determination to think positively, look for the good and find treasure in the darkness this year, all I can see now is darkness.

Was there any point in all this? Life seems to have a cruel and sick sense of humour. It seems to have been nothing but a red herring. But I don’t know anymore what I’m meant to be focusing on instead.

Progress

kira-progress

I am sorry to have been absent for so long. Life on the Station has been complicated, and hard and painful just recently, and it has been a challenge to keep my head above water. I am trying to surface again now, but we’ll just see how it goes. I’m making no promises.

Summary
Kira has to go to one of Bajor’s moons to evacuate the last remaining settlers so that the moon can be used to create energy for Bajor. The settlers are stubborn and determined to stay, and although Kira begins to connect with the man, in the end she is forced to destroy his home in order to get him safely off the moon.
The sub-plot has to do with Jake and Nog who do a little bit of sneaky trading of Cardassian Yarmok sauce/ self-sealing stem bolts/ land on Bajor behind Quark’s back and find in the end that the apparently worthless piece of land is in fact a crucial piece of real estate that has marriage value to the surrounding land.

Comments
I was surprised this episode came up so early in the series. This is a difficult episode for Kira, because she empathises with the settler and feels that opposing him and forcing him out of his home is a little bit like doing the work of the Cardassians for them, but in the end she must make this painful decision in order to save his life as the energy project will start whether he stays or goes.

I never quite understood why she went about it the way she did. One minute she’s helping him build, risking her career and Sisko’s wrath by delaying, nursing the man while he’s sick when she could have taken him away then easily, the next minute she’s setting his house on fire to force him to go. It seemed harsh. I suppose it was necessary in the end, but I don’t know that I would have done it that way. Land, in the end (it seems to me) is only land. But the house and everything in it could have been saved, moved, transported. Why did it have to be destroyed? It seemed unnecessarily cruel.

In my life
I think about the house I left, and nostalgia comes over me in waves just like grief does. I was never that attached to the place as such, but that house – where my children were born, where we spent all the years watching them growing up, all those memories. My heart aches with longing for it. I know that those times are gone, and even though it is hard, we adjust to children growing up and becoming their own people with their own ideas and interests and plans.

But having the house where it all happened ripped away from me, well that hurts. Maybe Sisko thought that moving away would save my life, or my health, or my sanity. I don’t know. But I think he might have been wrong. The price was too high, and I left my heart in the old country. But I also know that, since we moved away, the house we left isn’t there any more – it was ruined beyond all recognition by the bad tenants to whom we had the misfortune of renting our home. So I have no choice but to move on. ((((But you exist there)))) Yes I do. Perhaps I just need to accept that fact, that my grief and loss is part of who I am now. There is no moving on, just accepting.

The Last Straw

Another lick of paint, to cheer things up. What do you think?

The sun is shining, but I cannot tell you how deeply low and bad and desperate I feel. I didn’t go under when I lost my babies, when my Dad died, when uncle then aunt died in quick succession, when we endured floods, when we lost our house, when husband lost his job, when we had to move 6 times in under 5 years*. I just worked through every new grief like a Trojan. See these big muscles? I’m invincible.

But right now, I am seriously considering admitting defeat. I feel as though cruelty upon cruelty has been heaped upon us, and I have had enough. I won’t bore you with all the horrible things I’m having to deal with right now, but Whistler’s passing might just possibly have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

And the next person to suggest that I’m ‘attracting’ all this bad luck can expect to be beaten to a pulp before I get dragged off to the funny farm.

* The abridged version.

 

Battle Lines

battlelines2

Summary:

Sisko, Bashir, Chief O’Brien and Kira take the Kai on an outing to see the Wormhole, and when there is a distress call, she encourages them to answer it. As a result, they become stranded on a planet where there is continuous war, and the inhabitants have been treated with nanobots which ensure that when they are wounded and killed in battle, they do not die permanently, but are revived, so the cycle of war goes on and on. Kai Opaka is killed in the impact of the shuttle’s emergency landing and is revived, but then it turns out that she can then never leave the planet because the reviving nanobots only work there. And so, when they manage to fix the runabout so they can leave, Kai Opaka must stay, and Kira must say a final farewell.

“I’ve discovered we can’t afford to die here. Not even once.” – Bashir.

Noooo! Why did they do this? The answer of course is that Kai Opaka was just too nice, too perfect; there was no conflict, and that makes for a boring story. And as painful as it is, it’s a good episode full of feeling which explores all the themes of grief and loss, war and peace, love, friendship and hope.

I’ve mentioned my Dad before. I don’t think anyone else in my life has ever quite fulfilled that same role of mentor, and although I would love to find a new mentor, I don’t think it’s very likely that I would find anybody who could fully fill his boots. He was a religious man, and had a strong belief in the after-life to the extent that, when he was very ill at the end, and could have gone on living, he chose to die (by refusing to continue with dialysis) believing that he would go to his ‘eternal rest’, and that seemed more attractive to him than life.

I am a ‘believer’; I have a faith, but I don’t feel comfortable with such assurance that makes people choose death over life. It seemed an unthinkably cruel and cowardly choice, but I know that he wasn’t in his right mind when he made that decision, and for him, dialysis was his worst nightmare come true. After several months of misery, he decided to pull the plug. He was told that he would die within two weeks, but in fact he suffered 8 more months of pain and misery.

The grief that I felt when he left us was so deep, it was physical. I felt as though my chest was crushed and I really felt as though I were seriously, physically ill. Sisko, who had been through something very similar, was able to tell me that no, this was what grief is like.

Of course I like the idea that he is living somewhere, out of space and time, in a place where there is no more sorrow and no more tears and no more pain.

At the end of the episode, Kai Opaka tells Kira, “Your pagh and mine will cross again” but, apart from the odd couple of episodes where one of the Wormhole Aliens appears in the form of Kai Opaka, she does not return, and we don’t see her again as that character. The idea is that, negotiating between the two warring parties to bring them toward peace becomes Kai Opaka’s new life work.

ds9_battlelines

I was speaking to my mum the other day about the idea of heaven and my Dad – what is he doing, what is he thinking? Is he aware of everything that goes on here? Would he be crushed if she were to marry again? I told her that I didn’t think he is aware because – in my way of thinking about how the universe works at least – I think that at the moment of death, he exited time and space, so he exists now in a heaven completely separate to our realm of being. That way, for him, there will be a mere blink, a twinkling of an eye between arriving in heaven himself and the moment when we arrive there to be with him, even, if the Prophets are willing, that will be many, many years from now.

To my mind though, even if you have some great assurance of heaven, it’s never the best idea to choose heaven over life in the real world. Life is precious, and rare and wonderful, and despite all the awfulness of war and misery and disease, there is beauty and goodness and love and hope worth staying for.

Out in the cold, dark night

So here we are, almost nine weeks after moving out of our rented house, from which we were being evicted, into the brand spanking new housing association property. Minus the mold and the awful landlord and letting agents, but also minus carpets and curtains, the gardens, the fabulous view and minus the dining room, the built-in wardrobes. (We’re also still waiting for our deposit to bé returned) I could go on, but I’m trying not to dwell on the negatives.

One negative I am really struggling with though is the lack of landline phone and internet. Thank God for my mobile phone, but it is costing me almost as much to run this mobile as our only phone and internet source as it was to run broadband and wifi for the whole house before.

Nine weeks is long enough, don’t you think? If I had a choice not to use BT I would certainly vote with my feet, but of course they rely on your inability to go to anybody else for a landline.

I have been through a few traumatic events in the last few years, so in one way I’m used to it, but in another, I feel battle-worn and weary, traumatised too many times.

I’m basically middle-aged now. I thought that by now we would have a stable, comfortable home with a stable, comfortable network of friends and family around us. Nothing could bé further from the truth.

Needless to say, my health has taken a turn for the worse in the last few weeks, to the extent that – apart from a few necessary errands – I am mostly needing to lay down in bed in my room. Even sitting up is too painful, my neck feels unable to hold my head up for long.

I had a conversation on Saturday morning with a pentecostal friend, and I mentioned my ill health, so she said a prayer online which she asked me to agree to, which I did, but then she said “Now we have done ‘spiritual warfare’ and you are healed. Don’t invite back the spirit of infirmity.”

I have spent some time in pentecostal churches, so it shouldn’t have surprised me but I was taken aback. If only life were that simple!

The problem with having such a simplistic worldview is that it becomes inevitably judgemental – if you don’t get well, if your circumstances don’t improve, you must have failed in some way, failed to adequately wage spiritual warfare, had a lack of faith, spoken negative words to “invite” negativity back into your life! (Remember the ‘Secret’?)

Unfortunately, unless you want a potentially self-defeating argument, you learn to have to watch what you say around people with this kind of thinking. I feel another sense of loss that I can’t trust this friend with my true thoughts and feelings.

Anyway, our big news is that, in view of our circumstances, in view of my health, our finances, my husband’s age (over 50 now), we don’t intend to pursue adoption.

That decision comes with another terrific sense of loss and grief and guilt, but we left it too late I think. I wish we had looked into it ten years ago, but on the other hand it would not have been good to put adopted children through what we have been through in the last few years. It looks like it just wasn’t meant to bé. (Either that, or I didn’t wage enough spiritual warfare. Joke.) 😦

I dreamt last night that there were a bunch of children that weren’t mine out in the shed, out in the wet cold night, and one of them broke into the house and threatened me with a gun. Somehow I knew that they were out there, and I was more shocked that I hadn’t let them in than that this child was standing in front of me with a gun. Dreams are stupid, but I expect that’s the guilt talking. I would let you in, but I don’t think I would bé very much good for you.

Mother’s Day (again)

Mother’s Day (as opposed to the British Mothering Sunday, an ancient religious adaptation of Laetare Sunday, which is earlier in the year) is a recent – 1872 – American invention and a secular holiday, but one which seems to have been fully adopted by churches in America and elsewhere.

If greetings cards companies and other retailers had their way I am sure it would be celebrated by everyone over here as well.

Indeed, when I was growing up I remember they attempted to do just that, and there was a twice-a-year commercial hype, but we seem to have wised up a little since then.

I am a mother, several times over, but I am also a ‘babyloss’ mother several times over.

Celebrations of motherhood are hard and painful, and they can have the effect on babyloss mothers of making us feel a little ‘less’, a little de-humanized, and a little isolated.

It can make us want to run away and hide, curl up in a foetal ball ourselves and be subsumed by our grief.

We’re not the only ones who find mother’s day hard. There are those who have lost their own mothers, or those who, for whatever reason, are not mothers.

So I do wish mothers every good wish, and I wouldn’t want my misery (which is usually under control) to rub off on anyone else.

But I would ask that you do spare a thought for those who can’t rejoice so easily when everyone else is rejoicing. And church pastors, please read this thoughtful post from a non-mom from the ‘Time-warp wife’ blog:

http://timewarpwife.com/?p=3120

Expectations

Every now and then, a turn of events or set of circumstances, or even a few words will jump up unexpectedly and knock you sideways.

I’ve had a few of those – my Dad’s death after I thought I had convinced him to live, the moment I saw my house after our tenants had completely trashed it, and the moment I knew my twins were dead.

My other miscarriages were all around the 8-10 week mark, discovered at the 12 week scan to have passed away silently a few weeks before.

But I carried my twins to 14 weeks. At the 12 week scan it was clear that they had ‘just’ died. I had felt a lot of pain a few days prior to the scan, but had subsequently felt movement so I assumed everything was ok. (In later pregnancies, you feel the ‘quickening’ much earlier than first pregnancies.) I knew before the scan that it was twins because I felt so much movement.

But it wasn’t ok. My twins were suffering from Twin-to-Twin Transfusion syndrome – a not uncommon complication of identical twin pregnancies. Some survive with intervention, many do not.

I refused to have the D&C, (Dilation and Curettage) or the EPRC (Evacuation of Retained Products of Conception) that they so tastefully call it now, and which the sonographer tactlessly suggested I have right away, preferring to let nature take its course.

I needed more than an afternoon to process this reality – that the babies I had waited and prayed and longed for so much for seven years were not going to be mine.

I delivered my babies at home – two perfectly formed tiny little girls, Rachel and Leah.

Rachel was much larger than Leah, having been receiving more blood and nutrients in the twin-to-twin transfusion process. But they were both perfectly formed and still.

Fast forward two more years, and I am now over 40, and I conceive again, a surprise ‘last chance’ baby.

But I lost this ‘rainbow’ baby too.

Grief in our society is not really tolerated. It is swept away and hidden in the same way that death is quickly swept away and hidden. If you are grieving for more than a month, or three months at the outside, you can expect to be offered anti-depressants. The idea that you would be in ‘mourning’ for the traditional year or more is frankly unconscionable today.

But I am still grieving 3 and 4 years later, and that is normal and natural. I am grieving for the babies that I lost but I am also grieving for the lost future I thought I would have. Life may look bright, but it’s not the shade of brightness I had envisaged.

As much as I would still love to have another baby, the chances now are pretty much down to zero – unless God decides to intervene.

Can you imagine how it feels to end your family on recurrent loss? Do you think it matters if you have another child or two, or six or ten?

I still, after all this time, have to – for my own sanity and equilibrium – avoid pregnant women and babies (and especially twins) at all cost.

Babyloss mums, it should be noted, routinely ‘hide’ friends on facebook who announce pregnancies or post baby photos.

It is a necessity, because until some healing has taken place, it is a gaping, weeping wound that won’t heal over, and which is easily re-opened.

I knew that my friend’s wife was expecting a baby and was due around this time. I’ve known him for almost 30 years, and her for around 20. I decided I would be brave and have a look, only to find that she had ‘unfriended’ and ‘blocked’ me on facebook. I sent a message to my friend, and he announced their joy and I wished them well. I thought I was very brave, facing my fears, but now I dearly wish I hadn’t.

I then received messages from my friend telling me that his wife had blocked me because she was disgusted that I hadn’t ‘liked’ or commented on her facebook page during her pregnancy. It was apparently a ‘difficult pregnancy’ and she had to ‘dig deep’ to get through it.

How ‘deep’ do you think you need to ‘dig’ when your babies die?

She was apparently very disappointed in me and had “expected more” of me after being friends for so long.

Does it really need to be said that to expect a babyloss mum to support you through your pregnancy is wholly inappropriate and unreasonable?

Really?

I guess it does.

The conversations I’ve had with other babyloss mums tell me that I am not the only one who has received insensitive and thoughtless comments from unthinking friends who are unable to see past their own need.

I’m sorry I wasn’t able to ‘be there’ for my friend or his wife, but I was totally the wrong person to look to.

If you have a twisted ankle, you don’t go to somebody with a permanently broken back for help with walking. I know it’s not a perfect analogy, but it bears thinking about. Your twisted ankle will heal and you will walk again. I may never have that joy.

My 12 year old son heard me crying last night and asked why. I am so very grateful that I have surviving children. I am very blessed, I know that. But I have also lost five babies. As Rick Boyer said in his book on large families, ‘Yes, they’re all ours’,

“which of your children would you not mind losing?”

My young son’s reaction was so insightful, he said “it must feel like they’re teasing you.” I hadn’t thought about it that way, but yes it does a little bit. I know that there is probably no malice involved – it’s just insensitivity. From their perspective, her need for support is more important than my inability to give it. But from my perspective, they are flaunting their joy in the face of my grief.

The difficulties of a pregnancy that leads to a live birth are very, very different from the difficulties of a pregnancy that leads to a loss. They cannot be compared.

And you cannot expect sympathy for your pregnancy (or breastfeeding, or child-raising) difficulties from mothers who would give anything to experience those difficulties again for the chance of holding – and keeping – their baby.

I am sad to have lost my friend. I am sure he will make a good father. I wish them well. But even if there was no animosity towards me, I wouldn’t be able to be around them anymore. I truly wish it were possible, I would have loved to share their joy; but it isn’t possible. It’s just too raw and too painful, and sadly that is the reality for babyloss mums.

It’s cruel, it is an additional loss and grief on top of the original loss and grief.

Please try to understand that, and be grown up enough not to ‘block’ and punish them with insensitive words when they don’t live up to your expectations.

Open Letter to My Former Friends

For over ten years I lived and worked as a home educator in my former town. I worked tirelessly to run the Christian group, organising events and activities (mostly for free) in friendly co-operation with the secular groups. It is a deep regret that the group I set up did not continue after I left.

For a few years, it was absolutely great. Additionally, I started and briefly ran a home education learning co-op, and I ran several websites supporting, helping and encouraging people who wanted to start home educating.

I am told that ‘nice people’, and voluntary organisations in particular, are prone to infiltration and harassment from Dangerous People: twisted, troubled, manipulative individuals who may even have mental illnesses such as Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Fair enough. I’m sensitive, I hope, but I was also a fairly tough cookie, a good judge of character, and really not about to be troubled by That Sort of Thing because I’m basically pretty strong, I have a solid foundation, and I have a great circle of friends.

So far so good. Crazy person attacks, I fight back (with love to begin with, as much as possible, but make it clear that I won’t be walked over), problem solved.

What I wasn’t prepared for was how dastardly, cunningly clever the crazy people were (and we’re talking multiple crazies). Neither was I prepared for how easily my solid circle of friends could be swayed, poisoned against me and end up making the lies their own.

Character assassination is alarmingly easy to achieve. Social isolation, mental breakdown, even physical breakdown, easy-peasy. (It was at this point that my ME became much more serious, and I’m sure that stress is a major part of my health puzzle).

It obviously helps if your audience is slightly naïeve and a bit gullible, and perhaps prone to preconceptions and prejudice. (Not quite middle class? Not quite respectable? Must be suspect!)

But You – my friends – listened to the lies, believed them, maybe agreed with them (she is an insomniac, she is up all hours of the night on the internet, she’s can’t be looking after her children properly, easy couple of mental steps to “her children must be being abused”! She had post-natal depression, she must be mentally ill!)

You held a secret meeting to discuss me.

You lied to my face.

I hoped and prayed that the Truth would out, but it took years to do so; and finally, when the crazy people were revealed for what they were – manipulative, trouble-making liars (on a scale that would make you weep with laughter if this were fiction), you turned around and unapologetically laid all the blame for everything you had done at the feet of the crazy, disturbed, probably mentally ill person who actually, on reflection, had an excuse.

You had no excuse.

Three years ago, when I lost identical twins in miscarriage, my friends (and a couple in particular) – instead of supporting me emotionally or making any effort to understand how devastating it was (at my age, after so many years of hoping and longing and praying) – said the most appalling things to me. Amongst other things, they accused me of being selfish, self-indulgent, oh and a whole host of other things that I choose not to remember. “It’s not all about you!”

Wow.

I guess not.

I am told that the gossip ran along the lines that “she was never pregnant at all, she made it up.”

WHAT THE.

At this point we decided as a family to turn our backs on the whole toxic, bitchy, gossipy scene. This kind of constant battle really isn’t conducive to raising kids, or to home education, or to family. We left the city and moved away. Way away.

It has taken me three years to even begin to feel as though I am recovered.

Not once have I had a single apology.

Not a single one.

I tried my hand at reconciliation before we moved, but it really doesn’t work when a relationship is unbalanced with one side refusing to acknowledge their faults.

I am not twisted, and I’m not bitter, however easy that would be. I choose to walk in forgiveness whether or not you can acknowledge what you did.

But I sure do hope that you learned from the last few years – not only how twisted and dangerous the crazies are (that’s a given), but how vulnerable and easily persuaded and fooled you were. Because you were had. Not only did you contribute to emotionally damaging a friend and potentially destroying a happy family unit (remember how close you came to allowing the Crazy Woman to report us to Social Services?), you allowed lies to destroy a happy, supportive, stimulating social circle and home education group.

I presume the group itself recovered, moved on, has new people now. But what we had for those few years, that beautiful supportive, happy group of parents and children – is gone forever.

I mourn what I have lost.

I miss you.

I loved you.

I don’t do gossip, and I have always made it a rule to not say anything about anybody that I wouldn’t want that person to hear. I am still a nice person, I still volunteer and organise, and I always try to look for the good in people. (But I’m a little wiser now)

I know I’m not faultless in this, I know I said unkind things. I know I made bad decisions. I lost my temper. I hurt people. I apologised. I hope I have come out of this a little bit more mature, a little bit of a better person.

If you are willing to put your hand up and say, “Mea culpa”, I would be more than happy to reconcile.

There it is, an open door.

But if you want to argue, if you want to gossip and prevaricate a little bit more (I didn’t mention any names, you know who you are and which portion of this applies to you), I really don’t want to hear it.

I’m done.

Post-script

The night after I wrote this, I took it down after receiving some strange phone calls. It may have been an excessively paranoid reaction. I have re-read the post and decided to put it up again (minus the identifying locations). At the risk of possibly making me sound a little bit pathetic, and also possibly of upsetting and offending people, it is a chapter of my life that deserves not to be swept under the carpet. Lessons need to be learned, ultimately, and I feel that the best way for me to put this all behind me and move on is to make it public.

And so these three things remain: Faith, Hope and Charity (love) and the greatest of these is Charity. Love and forgiveness are paramount. I won’t waste my time bearing grudges.