I know its a little time has passed since TJ blew up at those who were loving and supporting him, but this is a post for FM (and an electronic hug!)
I wholeheartedly believe that Wendiesan was correct when she said in times of great stress we lash out at those who we trust the most to love us anyway.
The Facebook message about "not going to apologise" in its own, perverse way, means he knows he has done the wrong thing - and that eventually he will.
I know that it doesn't take away the pain and hurt, but maybe you can take it as a testament of his faith in you. Being "step"- mum, you've probably had to be the bad cop on more than one occasion (or have been made out to be) and I'm guessing you've gone on and loved TJ anyway - so he knows you are a "safe" person to lash out against.
In a normal situation, I'd be saying you don't deserve to be a punching bag (and regardless of the situation, you still don't deserve it - deserve isnt the right word but im struggling to come up with something better) - but this situation is far from normal.
If you can be big enough to keep loving him - then I think that it can all be restored. Maybe it's one of the things he needs the most right now - an outlet.
It probably seems totally inconceivable that he would "do a deal with the devil" over something that seems trivial at the outset. I'm going to share something personal - not because any of this is remotely about me - but so that maybe some understanding of the inconceivable or irrational can start to make its own sort of sense.
We lost our first pregnancy with a missed miscarriage at 18w, 3 days. We had a scan three days earlier and everything was fine. A week later, I felt really off - no other way to describe it. Dizzy but not ill, no bleeding. Went up to the hospital. Waited around for 8 hours after work because in terms of priority, I was a primi with no "concerning" symptoms. Just, you know, a first time mum being hysterical. I hadn't felt any movement for a couple of days, but movement had been a transient thing up until that point - still quite new and sporadic, and the MW's weren't worried. (One actually told me I hadn't ever felt movement yet, it was psychosomatic.) Annnyway. Finally got an ultrasound. Then a doctor. Then another machine and a different doctor. And a doppler. Until the doppler came in, I assumed there was a complication. When that was brought in, I knew there was no heart beat.
Cut a long story to the bare bones. Baby had died a few days earlier, my body hadn't caught up yet. (What they call a missed miscarriage)
I was given misoprostil and syncontin and induced. And pushed and screamed and cried and gave birth to my daughter, weighing 382 grams.
My mum and sister were flying in from interstate to be with me. My husband never left my side.
A few days later I went hone, with a discharge summary to give to my GP. Of course I read it. The diagnosis/procedure stated : "Medical Abortion"
That piece of paper hurt to an extent that I couldn't communicate it. I became fixated on it. On getting it changed. On getting the laws changed (and in 2012 a new bill was introduced to allow BD&M to voluntarily register babies earlier than 20 weeks gestation.) I wanted, no I NEEDED something tangible to hold on to - to know that I was a mum. That I had a daughter. That she existed.
No birth certificate. The only record, aside from US scans of my baby was the damming statement "medical abortion."
Like it was somehow my choice.
I couldn't stand to see those words there.
The funny thing is, I'm a health professional. I know that by ICD-AM standards that was the appropriate clinical coding terminology. And the hospital I was at was actually my place of work - (it isn't any more, changed to adult intensive care from paeds emergency as non-accidental injury cases were giving me dexter-style fantasies) but made a war to get it changed.
Huge war. Tore my husband apart - i was oblivious to his grief about our daughter, and was just angry with him for not being as adamant as i was about getting the discharge summary changed, about getting a birth certificate.
I know there has to be a cut off point somewhere. But being 22grams off "stillborn" - and having the difference be the term abortion was killing me.
My sister and my mother, who have both suffered miscarriages (genetic MTHFR mutations I've since found out) were my targets too - I made horrific, disgusting statements when they tried to console me and say they have been through it. I said they couldn't compare because they were early losses. (I never really noticed before then that one stage of grief is needing validation of your pain - and we turn into strange competitive animals around it. Loss is loss, pain is pain, and a gestational age doesn't matter!)
The things we do for pieces of paper.
I look back now and I am so deeply ashamed. And so grateful and blessed to have people who still loved me and stood beside me despite my ateocious behaviour. My sister was cut exceptionally deeply, and it took time for me to mend that bridge. But she stood there with me, daggers that I had flung still in-situ.
I got my piece of paper. It was a hollow victory - because the cost was so high and it didn't really change a thing.
I had to come to grips with my own sense of responsibility, my own perceived failings (I own cats, I drank one night just after conception so it was all my fault) before I could really heal.
I don't know if this would help TJ - but I started a journal where I wrote letters to her. Maybe when a future child is old enough, maybe I will give it to her to read. It made me feel, truly, like I was a mother - even if my baby girl wasn't with me. I still write to her now and then. I wrote to her last night about a little girl far away called Elaina. It has become the piece of paper I almost threw everything away for - something tangible that let's me know I was a mum, that my baby existed.
I think if TJ wrote to Elaina about everything he is feeling - the anger, the fear, his love for her, how betrayed he feels by this wall of silence from people he has known most of his life - maybe it could be his tangible thing too. Maybe he could forgive himself of his own perceived failings. And maybe, when K is old enough, and really starts to question what happened - maybe it can go to her too. So she will know that she was a big sister. That noone ever had any blame for her. That everyone tried to protect her. That her dad has a huge capacity for love in his heart, and never forgot about her sister.
And just to reiterate - I'm not drawing any parallels beyond the silly things we can fixate on in times of grief. And the hurt we can cause by doing so.
My heart breaks for all of you. Take care of yourself. Let the people you work with support you. And while there is no real escape from what's happening - try to use this period of time where you're being kept away at arms length as a brief respite to regroup again.
I hope the new evidence makes someone talk soon.
lease: