My support worker suggested that I might find it helpful to write a letter to my 12 year old self whose mother sent her to live with her (abusive) father after a fight.
Everything in the letter below is true and accurate as my perception of the events (and I'm fairly sure, true and accurate as to the facts as well), although I did take slight creative licence on the ages as I won't actually be 30 for another two weeks. My niece, though, really is 12, and does shout the same thing I told my mother.
This is, at this stage, still a first draft. I promised my support worker I wouldn't edit the original minus small rearrangements until after she had read it, and I find that after such an emotional outpour, I'm reluctant to reread and edit just yet. I wanted to share it, anyway, though.
You are twelve years old, a ghost and a memory, but that doesn't stop you being here with me. You view me as a wisp, an ethereal image hazy with what might be but I can see that you are a stamp of yesterday as indelible as octopus ink. You are in my eyes, and under them, in the depths of who I am. You will be changed, soon, by a moment that falls heavy around your shoulders even as it darts away.
When it happens, you will know that nothing will ever be the same, but you won't know how much this moment will become part of you. You won't know that for another 15 years, when you will revisit this moment in the hospital, undressing yourself and folding the adult part of you on the chair for later. Nakedly you will tell the nurse how it feels to be vulnerable and left to his mercy.
You will remember what you shouted, and you will remember slamming the door. You will remember the first time you ever heard her swear was that day, and she was calling you a bitch. You will remember the terror you felt when you realised she was calling your father, and you will remember begging her not to send you away. You will remember that you heard your little brother plead your case, and though you won't remember her reply, you will remember the tight way she speaks, and the sinking of that balloon of hope in your chest as she gets on the phone and tells him to come and get his daughter.
Unaccountably, you will remember the day when you were small and one of your brothers had placed a sandwich into the VCR. You will remember another phone call, to the Police (or so you still believe), and the certainty with which she tells you all that they are coming to fingerprint and take away the guilty party. You remember knowing it wasn't you, deducing it was one of your brothers and not knowing which. You remember you begged them each separately to confess, that you would not be torn through the middle; two magnetic poles no longer touching. Years later, when you remember that other moment, you will remember this one, and you will also remember that picture in your mind, of a small face peering out the back of a terrifyingly large vehicle. In your dreams, that face will be yours.
You won't remember whether it all happened slowly, as if you are stuck in time; or if the inevitability of it all sped you through to its conclusion. You won't remember what this fight was even about, but you'll remember that you didn't mean what you shouted and you both knew it.
You will remember her giving you a bag and telling you to pack your things, and you'll remember only that you sat stiffly in the car, cradling your stereo, and that you cried the whole way to your father's.
Years from now, you will remember, also, some of the aftermath as well, like the day your mother tells you she has antidepressants now. By the time you are 14, you will know this is your fault, and she will confirm it.
By then, you won't remember whether you gave any thought to the friends you left behind, but you will discover that when you return, most of them will remember you. Some of them will reclaim you, but Kylie, with whom you shared a birth month and with whom you were close, will never forgive you for leaving her behind. You won't mind because you aren't the same girl anymore, but you will regret the bullying that follows as she gradually steps up the levels of violence.
Still, you will survive and you will believe you are mainly unscathed. You will believe for many years that your mother is the good one. You will believe that all of this will disappear, fade into the background of who you are. You will believe that it is all your fault.
You will believe it, but it won't be true.
You are twelve years old. Twelve. You don't know it now, but when you are 30, you will have a 12 year old niece, and you will see in her the same streak of independence you had at her age. You will hear her shout those same words to her father, to her mother, to her grandmother... to you. You will see past them and know that they are words that come from a place of anger, but mostly from a place of hurt and confusion.
You will know that if anyone tries to send her away, it will not be her fault, and it will not be a reflection on the value of that 12 year old girl trying to make her way in a world that is often confusing and scary. You will know beyond any doubt that she is beautiful and amazing and wonderful, and that even when she makes mistakes, she is still all of those things.
You will know that no matter what the world throws at her, she will always have value. At 30, you will begin making connections between that 12 year old and the you that was 12. You will write yourself this letter, and in the writing, you will begin to let go of the shadow that has followed you for 18 years, because you will begin to see that at 12, you are still a child. At 12, you are a child who cannot be responsible for the actions of an adult. You are not the cause of your mother's illness, and though you may have exacerbated it without knowing or intending that, it is still not your fault.
You are twelve years old, a ghost and a memory, but that doesn't stop you being here with me. You have been changed by this moment, and you will be changed by many more that are to come, until you become the 30 year old writing this letter. You will look in the mirror one day and though your hair is greying and your skin wrinkles like unironed sheets, you will see, still, the stamp of who you were; the stamp of moments; lived, loved and regretted; all over the solidity of who you are.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Dichotomous Christmas
I know I'm now too late to wish you all a Merry Christmas, but I hope everyone had a wonderful day yesterday, whether you celebrate Christmas or not.
My day... was a day of firsts, and a day of tradition. It was a day of great happiness, but it was a day edged with grief and regret. Unusually for me, it was also a day of healing and growth - though I don't expect to see concrete results of that any time soon. Finally, it was a day of learning. Most of the things I learned were small things, it's true, but small things add up and gradually become bigger things.
Although Bumface and I began dating shortly before Christmas last year, I spent most of the day with my biological family, only meeting up with him at the end of the day. Normally, we would go to my brother's for Christmas, but this year I made the decision early on that I wouldn't be doing that. Bumface isn't comfortable with my family (and given the way they've treated us both, I certainly understand why), and I didn't want us to be apart for Christmas, so we decided to have it here -- that way, too, we could invite Baby Bear to join us, as well as any other friends/chosen family with nowhere else to go. We did invite my mother and Jerry, (her best friend who has been like a father to myself and my brothers) especially as it's the first Christmas my younger brother hasn't been here for, but they declined to join us. As a result, not only was this my first real Christmas with my partner... it was my first Christmas ever without a single member of my biological family.
This year, I pulled together some of my favourite Christmas traditions from my childhood, and I made a few changes where appropriate, to create a Christmas that would work for us. I decorated, with the help of Baby Bear and her friend. I put together 3 stockings (one each for myself, Bumface and Baby Bear). I made my favourite Christmas recipes (minus the trifle which I'll be making once we've eaten some more of the food we already have left over). Baby Bear joined us and we enjoyed plenty of nibblies as we exchanged gifts. After a brief rest, we had my family's traditional salad lunch. All my favourites from my childhood were there, and a few others I've picked up through the years were added as well.
It was a good day, but there were still things I missed. Mostly, I missed my nieces and my nephew. Without them, the chatter of children was missing, and the magic (and the laughter!) that brings to Christmas was a small wound in the day. It left me aching a little for my own little girl and boy.
I didn't miss calling my father and wishing him a Merry Christmas, but I wish I could say I didn't feel guilt over it.
This year, I learned, as I learn over and again, that some wounds don't heal. I learned, as I learn over and again, that family is about so much more than who gave birth to whom. I learned, as I wish I'd realised earlier, that coleslaw dressing and caesar salad dressing are not interchangable (worst coleslaw EVER). I learned, as I think we all wish I'd learned before making the pasta salad, that regular peas should be shelled. I learned, as I learn over and again, that just as there can be sadness in the midst of beauty... there also can be beauty in the midst of sadness.
This year, I was shown that there are some truly amazing and wonderful people in my life, and I am blessed to know them. I was shown that there are some people in my life who maybe don't deserve the amount of time and love I offer them, as they are unwilling to offer much in return... but there are some who deserve everything I can give and so, so much more.
I hope I do enough that those people know who they are, that they see I understand and appreciate just how much they enrich my life and how deeply grateful I am for all they do for me. They are my chosen family, and although not all of them could join me physically for Christmas, they were all in my heart yesterday, as they are every day, and are ever welcome at my table.
Happy Holidays, my friends.
My day... was a day of firsts, and a day of tradition. It was a day of great happiness, but it was a day edged with grief and regret. Unusually for me, it was also a day of healing and growth - though I don't expect to see concrete results of that any time soon. Finally, it was a day of learning. Most of the things I learned were small things, it's true, but small things add up and gradually become bigger things.
Although Bumface and I began dating shortly before Christmas last year, I spent most of the day with my biological family, only meeting up with him at the end of the day. Normally, we would go to my brother's for Christmas, but this year I made the decision early on that I wouldn't be doing that. Bumface isn't comfortable with my family (and given the way they've treated us both, I certainly understand why), and I didn't want us to be apart for Christmas, so we decided to have it here -- that way, too, we could invite Baby Bear to join us, as well as any other friends/chosen family with nowhere else to go. We did invite my mother and Jerry, (her best friend who has been like a father to myself and my brothers) especially as it's the first Christmas my younger brother hasn't been here for, but they declined to join us. As a result, not only was this my first real Christmas with my partner... it was my first Christmas ever without a single member of my biological family.
This year, I pulled together some of my favourite Christmas traditions from my childhood, and I made a few changes where appropriate, to create a Christmas that would work for us. I decorated, with the help of Baby Bear and her friend. I put together 3 stockings (one each for myself, Bumface and Baby Bear). I made my favourite Christmas recipes (minus the trifle which I'll be making once we've eaten some more of the food we already have left over). Baby Bear joined us and we enjoyed plenty of nibblies as we exchanged gifts. After a brief rest, we had my family's traditional salad lunch. All my favourites from my childhood were there, and a few others I've picked up through the years were added as well.
It was a good day, but there were still things I missed. Mostly, I missed my nieces and my nephew. Without them, the chatter of children was missing, and the magic (and the laughter!) that brings to Christmas was a small wound in the day. It left me aching a little for my own little girl and boy.
I didn't miss calling my father and wishing him a Merry Christmas, but I wish I could say I didn't feel guilt over it.
This year, I learned, as I learn over and again, that some wounds don't heal. I learned, as I learn over and again, that family is about so much more than who gave birth to whom. I learned, as I wish I'd realised earlier, that coleslaw dressing and caesar salad dressing are not interchangable (worst coleslaw EVER). I learned, as I think we all wish I'd learned before making the pasta salad, that regular peas should be shelled. I learned, as I learn over and again, that just as there can be sadness in the midst of beauty... there also can be beauty in the midst of sadness.
This year, I was shown that there are some truly amazing and wonderful people in my life, and I am blessed to know them. I was shown that there are some people in my life who maybe don't deserve the amount of time and love I offer them, as they are unwilling to offer much in return... but there are some who deserve everything I can give and so, so much more.
I hope I do enough that those people know who they are, that they see I understand and appreciate just how much they enrich my life and how deeply grateful I am for all they do for me. They are my chosen family, and although not all of them could join me physically for Christmas, they were all in my heart yesterday, as they are every day, and are ever welcome at my table.
Happy Holidays, my friends.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Even A Knife-Wielding Maniac Can Illustrate Growth
Yesterday, I went to an event held by Open Minds, and came home expecting everybody to be out. After I turned around and locked the door, without even having a cursory look around the room, I turned back to discover a "knife-wielding maniac" standing right in front of me.
Confronted with a similar situation a week ago, the 18yo daughter stood still and screamed. And darn near wet herself. I would have expected that to be my reaction as well. Instead I stood stock still with quite a surprised look on my face and just froze. Completely and utterly. And then my eyes adjusted, I saw who it was... and I laughed.
Since the "knife wielding maniac" was, in both instances, Bumface, I posted about the prank on Facebook as I internally processed all the positive things I had learned from it. Unfortunately, some of my friends seemed to feel that because they didn't find it amusing, I couldn't (or shouldn't?) have, either and I now have a lot to process around that.
But.. between the prank and the Facebook fall-out, I've learned and cemented a few new/emerging thoughts and truths for myself.
1. My eyes might be getting worse and I should probably have them tested. To be perfectly honest, I didn't even *see* the knife until after I recognised Bumface. :p
2. I have grown so much, emotionally, over the last year. I knew that, but this prank really illustrated to me just HOW much, and I'm so proud of that in myself.
3. Despite this growth, in an emergency situation, my instinct is still to freeze. This is probably not the best plan in most situations, so I need to practice forms of self defense (or at least fleeing!) enough that they become second nature as much as freezing.
4. Some of my actions when I believe I'm alone put me at risk. It is a good practice to be aware of my surroundings when I enter a room, to at least make a quick check that everything is in order. I don't mean a paranoid examination of every corner of the house, but a cursory check that there isn't a crazy man less than two feet from me is probably a smart move. ;)
5. I have a great deal of deep trust for Bumface. Not many people could stand in front of me, holding a knife, and still make me feel safe once I recognise them.
6. I don't believe in "if you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all" - but I believe in something that (I feel) fits that grey a little better. "If you can't say something constructive, then you shouldn't say anything at all" because, let's face it, sometimes it's necessary to say something that isn't nice. If your best friend is dating an abusive jerk, you should probably tell her you can see that he's abusing her and you're there for her. Now, that's probably not the nicest thing to say -- but better to say it than let her think what he's doing is okay because everybody's seeing it and nobody's speaking up!
7. I don't need other peoples' approval as strongly as I used to. I am still deeply hurt by the disapproval and rejection I felt/feel about reactions I received to my post, but there is not so strong a sense of "well, maybe I did something wrong" - now it's a sense that I'm sad that people can't just be glad that I'm in a relationship that makes me happy, is good for me, and has allowed me to grow so much. Still, out of pond muck, lillies grow.
Most of all, I cemented that this relationship really HAS been very good for me over the past year. I didn't doubt it, but it is still nice to have solid confirmation of the ways in which he has helped me to grow. I only hope I've been as good for him as he has for me.
(And that I can come up with a damn good retaliation prank...)
Confronted with a similar situation a week ago, the 18yo daughter stood still and screamed. And darn near wet herself. I would have expected that to be my reaction as well. Instead I stood stock still with quite a surprised look on my face and just froze. Completely and utterly. And then my eyes adjusted, I saw who it was... and I laughed.
Since the "knife wielding maniac" was, in both instances, Bumface, I posted about the prank on Facebook as I internally processed all the positive things I had learned from it. Unfortunately, some of my friends seemed to feel that because they didn't find it amusing, I couldn't (or shouldn't?) have, either and I now have a lot to process around that.
But.. between the prank and the Facebook fall-out, I've learned and cemented a few new/emerging thoughts and truths for myself.
1. My eyes might be getting worse and I should probably have them tested. To be perfectly honest, I didn't even *see* the knife until after I recognised Bumface. :p
2. I have grown so much, emotionally, over the last year. I knew that, but this prank really illustrated to me just HOW much, and I'm so proud of that in myself.
3. Despite this growth, in an emergency situation, my instinct is still to freeze. This is probably not the best plan in most situations, so I need to practice forms of self defense (or at least fleeing!) enough that they become second nature as much as freezing.
4. Some of my actions when I believe I'm alone put me at risk. It is a good practice to be aware of my surroundings when I enter a room, to at least make a quick check that everything is in order. I don't mean a paranoid examination of every corner of the house, but a cursory check that there isn't a crazy man less than two feet from me is probably a smart move. ;)
5. I have a great deal of deep trust for Bumface. Not many people could stand in front of me, holding a knife, and still make me feel safe once I recognise them.
6. I don't believe in "if you can't say something nice, then don't say anything at all" - but I believe in something that (I feel) fits that grey a little better. "If you can't say something constructive, then you shouldn't say anything at all" because, let's face it, sometimes it's necessary to say something that isn't nice. If your best friend is dating an abusive jerk, you should probably tell her you can see that he's abusing her and you're there for her. Now, that's probably not the nicest thing to say -- but better to say it than let her think what he's doing is okay because everybody's seeing it and nobody's speaking up!
7. I don't need other peoples' approval as strongly as I used to. I am still deeply hurt by the disapproval and rejection I felt/feel about reactions I received to my post, but there is not so strong a sense of "well, maybe I did something wrong" - now it's a sense that I'm sad that people can't just be glad that I'm in a relationship that makes me happy, is good for me, and has allowed me to grow so much. Still, out of pond muck, lillies grow.
Most of all, I cemented that this relationship really HAS been very good for me over the past year. I didn't doubt it, but it is still nice to have solid confirmation of the ways in which he has helped me to grow. I only hope I've been as good for him as he has for me.
(And that I can come up with a damn good retaliation prank...)
Monday, December 10, 2012
Sanguine Satur-Sun-Monday: 7 Shades of Gratitude
Sanguine Monday doesn't have anywhere near the ring of Sanguine Saturday or Sunday. I should let that be a lesson to me and make sure I post these things up on the weekends so I don't get stuck with a title devoid of such fun alliteration.
(But, let's face it, I probably won't. I'm just rubbish at remembering what day it is most of the time.)
It's been a while again, hasn't it? Luckily, I am much practiced at jumping in where I left off, no matter how long ago that was, so without further ado, here are today's 7 Shades of Gratitude.
1. Decorating with others who enjoy Christmas as well.
2. Productive quiet time.
3. Deliciously warm weather.
4. Exploring new forms of poetry.
5. Grocery totals that come to less than expected.
6. New shoes! (Even if I do need to dye them black.)
7. Exploring new/old places with people we love.
(But, let's face it, I probably won't. I'm just rubbish at remembering what day it is most of the time.)
It's been a while again, hasn't it? Luckily, I am much practiced at jumping in where I left off, no matter how long ago that was, so without further ado, here are today's 7 Shades of Gratitude.
1. Decorating with others who enjoy Christmas as well.
2. Productive quiet time.
3. Deliciously warm weather.
4. Exploring new forms of poetry.
5. Grocery totals that come to less than expected.
6. New shoes! (Even if I do need to dye them black.)
7. Exploring new/old places with people we love.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
30 Tuesday Truths: Two
While wandering the internet awhile ago, I came across a 30 Days of Truth blogging challenge/project over at As The Pendulum Swings. Instead of blogging every day, I've decided to take it on on a weekly basis, posting a new question & my answer every week.
Day 02 : Something you love about yourself
This one is harder than I thought it would be, to be perfectly honest. Don't get me wrong, I figured I'd have trouble with it -- but I thought I wouldn't be able to think of anything I even like about myself, let alone finding several I had trouble choosing between!
I could have gone with the colour of my eyes (blue-grey-changeable). I could have gone with my ability to enjoy things I'm not good at (like backyard spots, or singing, or dancing). I could have gone with how family oriented I am or how much love I have to give/share with people. There were several other ideas I entertained as well, but I am starting to feel a bit like I'm 'tooting my own horn' here, so I won't list them all. The point is, there's actually a fair bit about myself I've learned to, if not love, at least like. And some days I do even love those aspects of myself.
I could have gone with any of those things above (or the unspecified ones, of course) but instead I've chosen to go with my innocence, (child-like/childish ness) and naivety, in most of its aspects. I know a lot of people don't appreciate this in me, and others see it as a wall or mask I wear, but this is, quite frankly, one of my favourite things about myself.
I love that the small things interest and amuse me because I haven't let go of that part of myself. I love that it takes so little to make me happy (aside from my mental illnesses). I love that this part of me allows me to see beauty in things that others look right past. I love that I get excited about big events like Christmas or seeing snow for the first time, and that I also still get excited about the little events like seeing a puppy being taken for a walk or receiving a letter in the mail. I love that I haven't lost the ability to create, imagine and play.
I love that I have not allowed my past to blind me to the love, happiness and beauty that is in this world.
How about you, what is it you like or love about yourself? I challenge you to find at least one thing and either comment it or write it on your own blog (and comment your link!). :)
Day 02 : Something you love about yourself
This one is harder than I thought it would be, to be perfectly honest. Don't get me wrong, I figured I'd have trouble with it -- but I thought I wouldn't be able to think of anything I even like about myself, let alone finding several I had trouble choosing between!
I could have gone with the colour of my eyes (blue-grey-changeable). I could have gone with my ability to enjoy things I'm not good at (like backyard spots, or singing, or dancing). I could have gone with how family oriented I am or how much love I have to give/share with people. There were several other ideas I entertained as well, but I am starting to feel a bit like I'm 'tooting my own horn' here, so I won't list them all. The point is, there's actually a fair bit about myself I've learned to, if not love, at least like. And some days I do even love those aspects of myself.
I could have gone with any of those things above (or the unspecified ones, of course) but instead I've chosen to go with my innocence, (child-like/childish ness) and naivety, in most of its aspects. I know a lot of people don't appreciate this in me, and others see it as a wall or mask I wear, but this is, quite frankly, one of my favourite things about myself.
I love that the small things interest and amuse me because I haven't let go of that part of myself. I love that it takes so little to make me happy (aside from my mental illnesses). I love that this part of me allows me to see beauty in things that others look right past. I love that I get excited about big events like Christmas or seeing snow for the first time, and that I also still get excited about the little events like seeing a puppy being taken for a walk or receiving a letter in the mail. I love that I haven't lost the ability to create, imagine and play.
I love that I have not allowed my past to blind me to the love, happiness and beauty that is in this world.
How about you, what is it you like or love about yourself? I challenge you to find at least one thing and either comment it or write it on your own blog (and comment your link!). :)
Friday, November 23, 2012
(7 Years After) Losing A Baby
As a woman, when a pregnancy ends and there is no baby to hold, it can feel like your world has literally exploded into nothingness around you. It can feel like there is no hope left in the world. It can feel like you'll never know happiness again.
I know because it happened to me seven years ago when I miscarried and lost my daughter, Elyssami Faith. It felt like my soul was being torn from my body along with my baby.
After 7 years, that morning and the first few days that followed are still etched in my memories as vivid as if it were happening now. It's not something I think I'll ever forget, just like I won't forget how much love I felt for that little life growing inside me.
There are some things I wish I could forget, like how I went to work that day and all I could do was cry; or how the physical agony ripped through me as my body let go of everything that had kept her alive; or how my own husband created deep emotional wounds asking if I was "over it" two days later and told me he was glad I had lost our daughter. Some things are better forgotten but they stay in my mind anyway.
There are some things I hope I'll never forget, like how it felt to have that little life growing inside me; or what a miracle it was; or how it felt to love so deeply and wholly even before meeting that little person.
And then there are the things I couldn't keep hold of, just the way I couldn't keep hold of her. That's the thing about a pregnancy that ends without a baby - you don't just lose a baby (as if that wasn't enough on its own). You lose all the hopes and dreams you'd had for her. You lose your sense of safety. You lose some of your innocence. You lose confidence in your body's ability to create and sustain life.
You lose a part of yourself.
And then... nobody wants to talk about it. Nobody wants you to say you had a baby and she died. People don't even want to hear you call a miscarriage a baby, let alone help you honour and remember her. Nobody wants to acknowledge you as a mother, like you don't deserve membership into that special club because your baby never kept you up crying all night -- but they don't realise, she did. The only difference is that it wasn't her crying, it was you.
I've been told that given enough time, all wounds will heal. I don't believe it. After seven years, though, I do believe that we learn how to live around the wounds. You don't get over losing your baby - it's not a hill you get to climb and when you're at the top you get a great view - that's not how it works. It isn't a gap you can fill, a wound you can heal - there is a piece of you and a piece of your life that is and always will be missing.
The thing is, though, you don't have to get over it. You just have to get through it, accept it, learn to cope with it... and live around it.
I'll never forget my daughter. I don't want to. However brief it was - she lived. She was loved. She deserves to have her name spoken, to be remembered and loved. And she will be because I am her mother and I will always love and remember her.
I know because it happened to me seven years ago when I miscarried and lost my daughter, Elyssami Faith. It felt like my soul was being torn from my body along with my baby.
After 7 years, that morning and the first few days that followed are still etched in my memories as vivid as if it were happening now. It's not something I think I'll ever forget, just like I won't forget how much love I felt for that little life growing inside me.
There are some things I wish I could forget, like how I went to work that day and all I could do was cry; or how the physical agony ripped through me as my body let go of everything that had kept her alive; or how my own husband created deep emotional wounds asking if I was "over it" two days later and told me he was glad I had lost our daughter. Some things are better forgotten but they stay in my mind anyway.
There are some things I hope I'll never forget, like how it felt to have that little life growing inside me; or what a miracle it was; or how it felt to love so deeply and wholly even before meeting that little person.
And then there are the things I couldn't keep hold of, just the way I couldn't keep hold of her. That's the thing about a pregnancy that ends without a baby - you don't just lose a baby (as if that wasn't enough on its own). You lose all the hopes and dreams you'd had for her. You lose your sense of safety. You lose some of your innocence. You lose confidence in your body's ability to create and sustain life.
You lose a part of yourself.
And then... nobody wants to talk about it. Nobody wants you to say you had a baby and she died. People don't even want to hear you call a miscarriage a baby, let alone help you honour and remember her. Nobody wants to acknowledge you as a mother, like you don't deserve membership into that special club because your baby never kept you up crying all night -- but they don't realise, she did. The only difference is that it wasn't her crying, it was you.
I've been told that given enough time, all wounds will heal. I don't believe it. After seven years, though, I do believe that we learn how to live around the wounds. You don't get over losing your baby - it's not a hill you get to climb and when you're at the top you get a great view - that's not how it works. It isn't a gap you can fill, a wound you can heal - there is a piece of you and a piece of your life that is and always will be missing.
The thing is, though, you don't have to get over it. You just have to get through it, accept it, learn to cope with it... and live around it.
I'll never forget my daughter. I don't want to. However brief it was - she lived. She was loved. She deserves to have her name spoken, to be remembered and loved. And she will be because I am her mother and I will always love and remember her.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Chrysalis Gets Political
As you all know, this is not a political blog, it never has been and it never will be. Part of that is that, as loathe as I am to admit it, is that politics generally bores me. It's complex, there's maths involved and it involves aspects of the human race that I prefer not to think about in too much depth (like hypocricy and lies!). Another part of the reason I don't usually write about political things is that they generally pass me by. I don't watch the news much, I read newspapers sporadically (and when I do it's usually just the local) and without a car, I don't even listen to the radio.
However, today I am moved to write about something very political, because what's going on in the world right now makes me both sad and angry. Now, whatever side of the argument you're on, or even if you're smack-bang in the centre - if you don't want to read about women's rights, or feminism, or abortion, then this is your out.
I want to get one thing straight before I start. I'm not a feminist. I'm not, and don't think I ever will be, a proper activist or strong advocate for women's rights. Despite what some women have tried to tell me, this isn't a slap in the face to women who ARE feminists. It's like saying I'm not an animal rights activist. I believe in the cause, and I'm grateful for the work that people who are those things do -- but I'm not doing the work, so why should I claim the title?
It's not that I don't think women are oppressed.
It's not that I don't think there needs to be more equality between genders.
It's not that I don't think things need to change.
It IS that I am only one person who has other things to focus on.
It is that there are things that are equally important to me that I am more capable of fighting or doing or advocating for.
It is that I do what I can with what I have - and that includes my energy.
Now that all of that is said and out of the way, I want to talk about how abhorrent I find the situation in Ireland right now. I kept silent all through America's big election - though you better believe that once I heard about the whole rape/abortion side of things, I followed it more closely than I have ever followed an election before, despite not even being American. I kept quiet about that - although not to Bumface, who got to hear a rehashed version of every update I heard - but I cannot keep silent on this.
Last week, Savita Halappanavar died of blood poisoning 3 days after she began to miscarry in an Irish hospital. This happened because in Ireland, abortion is illegal under all circumstances.
In case you missed that, let me tell you again. After 3 days of agony, while her body attempted to expel a baby with ZERO chance of survival (she was 17 weeks along), a woman died because hospital staff were not allowed to perform an abortion, despite her pleading.
Anyone who knows me knows how badly I wanted my daughter, and how devastated I was to have lost her. They may also know that I find abortion a difficult subject to discuss/hear about, and that I have some pretty strong views on it - even if they don't necessarily know what those views are.
But even with my daughter's anniversary looming, that time when I am most vulnerable and least likely to accept abortion, I still cannot understand how anyone, on either side of the fence, cannot see the contradiction inherent in "we believe in the sanctity of life" and "we will risk your life for the sake of a foetus with no chance of survival".
This is not okay. Women's health should not be medically forced to be placed at risk simply because they are carrying a baby. I honestly cannot see how, no matter where you stand on abortion, it can be rationally justified to take away her power to make decisions on her body and the baby/foetus she is growing inside it.
However, today I am moved to write about something very political, because what's going on in the world right now makes me both sad and angry. Now, whatever side of the argument you're on, or even if you're smack-bang in the centre - if you don't want to read about women's rights, or feminism, or abortion, then this is your out.
I want to get one thing straight before I start. I'm not a feminist. I'm not, and don't think I ever will be, a proper activist or strong advocate for women's rights. Despite what some women have tried to tell me, this isn't a slap in the face to women who ARE feminists. It's like saying I'm not an animal rights activist. I believe in the cause, and I'm grateful for the work that people who are those things do -- but I'm not doing the work, so why should I claim the title?
It's not that I don't think women are oppressed.
It's not that I don't think there needs to be more equality between genders.
It's not that I don't think things need to change.
It IS that I am only one person who has other things to focus on.
It is that there are things that are equally important to me that I am more capable of fighting or doing or advocating for.
It is that I do what I can with what I have - and that includes my energy.
Now that all of that is said and out of the way, I want to talk about how abhorrent I find the situation in Ireland right now. I kept silent all through America's big election - though you better believe that once I heard about the whole rape/abortion side of things, I followed it more closely than I have ever followed an election before, despite not even being American. I kept quiet about that - although not to Bumface, who got to hear a rehashed version of every update I heard - but I cannot keep silent on this.
Last week, Savita Halappanavar died of blood poisoning 3 days after she began to miscarry in an Irish hospital. This happened because in Ireland, abortion is illegal under all circumstances.
In case you missed that, let me tell you again. After 3 days of agony, while her body attempted to expel a baby with ZERO chance of survival (she was 17 weeks along), a woman died because hospital staff were not allowed to perform an abortion, despite her pleading.
Anyone who knows me knows how badly I wanted my daughter, and how devastated I was to have lost her. They may also know that I find abortion a difficult subject to discuss/hear about, and that I have some pretty strong views on it - even if they don't necessarily know what those views are.
But even with my daughter's anniversary looming, that time when I am most vulnerable and least likely to accept abortion, I still cannot understand how anyone, on either side of the fence, cannot see the contradiction inherent in "we believe in the sanctity of life" and "we will risk your life for the sake of a foetus with no chance of survival".
This is not okay. Women's health should not be medically forced to be placed at risk simply because they are carrying a baby. I honestly cannot see how, no matter where you stand on abortion, it can be rationally justified to take away her power to make decisions on her body and the baby/foetus she is growing inside it.
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