19 November 2008

"How many children do you have?"

One little question. Harmless. Pretty normal. But this one little question can also be a loaded question, one full of misery.

Someone asked me this question at work the other day. I have become well practiced at clenching my back teeth and not blinking an eye while responding with "I have two children" LIAR! IT'S A LIE! the inner voice inside my head screams whilst I proceed to tell the asker of question their ages. BUT YOU HAVE 3 CHILDREN, NOT 2 the voice is furious now. It hates the Lie. And the Lie has become so frequent of late.

There was a time I dared to tell the truth and include my lost daughter in that count but it became harder to disguise the truth and so the Lie came out and it has stayed.

But not without a Price. The voice doesn't let up and the guilt creeps in. How does a Mother deny her own child? How can anyone possibly understand how a small question can lead to days of feeling so guilty and as if I have betrayed my daughter? Yet another example of the distress adoption plays in my daily life... a simple answer can turn into so much heartache.

I hate denying her. Usually I try not to but few people would understand the truth or care to hear the full story. To tell a stranger my deepest pain would be like allowing them to reach in and hold the handle of the dagger that is so deeply embedded in my heart. Allowing them this far allows them to turn that dagger and my already so badly wounded heart bleeds anew. There is only so many times one can fix a hole.

So here, where anyone who reads can see... the truth to the answer in the title is: I have THREE beautiful children. I have two amazing daughters and one gorgeous son. And I love all three so very, very much. They are all part of me, part of who I am and part of my family. Just because one does not share my home in the physical sense does not mean she is not with me. She is thought of EVERY day, often and spoken of daily. She is not a secret within her family. And we wait, I wait until the day she takes her rightful place here, within her family where she was always meant to be...

09 November 2008

Bad Days

We all have them. Bad hair days as some call them. I don't know what to call them as they are days that haunt me. Play games with my heart. These are those days that, for no particular reason the grief you have become so good at hiding peeks out and grabs you by the heartstrings. And squeezes hard.

The sharp intake of breath. The straining as you try to keep that plastic smile firmly in place. Nothing is wrong... everything is just fine. If only.

Sometimes I want to scream. I want to curl up in a ball and just let myself slide into another place, a safe place where I don't have to think about that other part of me who is missing. My daughter... my precious girl who I miss every moment of every day.

What did bring this on?? Ahhh, I think I know. Noodle had her first day of orientation for Kindy. At the same school I was going to send A.. the one I had picked out whilst still pregnant with her and now her little sister will be going to it. Its a fabulous wee school. And its Catholic, just like the one she goes too. So there lies part of the issue. What has she really gained from being adopted?

I hate having this competition in my head with her adopters but when you have been told you would destroy your child's life if you kept her and are not good enough for your own baby, it kind of stays with you. And replays in your head. Hell, I am still fighting this now with my other two children. I don't think I will ever feel good enough... I was brainwashed so very effectively.

So, I have had a bad day. Another to add to a series of bad days over the past little while. I don't know why, but she haunts me. I feel her daily and it kills me that I cannot see her. I am sick of these days, they are very draining.

And they thought I could just get over it. As if.