15 February 2011

It still hurts...

My blog has been fairly infrequent of late. There is so much swimming around in my head; posts I have written in my mind already, topics I want to nut out and yet when I come to sit at my keyboard, I just stare at the screen and my mind empties of what I had to say.

Even now, all my ideas have gone.

Only one thing remains. And that is the all consuming knowledge that in just two days time, I will be the mother of a teenager.

My precious, tiny, baby girl will be a teenager.

Never did I think I would make it to now. Indeed, it is a miracle I made it through the first 3 months after my daughter was pried from my fingers and I was left as nothing on the floor of someone's kitchen.

When the light had been taken from my world, I stumbled second to second, minute to minute. Over time, I still stumbled, tripping my way through each hour, the screaming still in my head; the mess of my bleeding heart trailing behind me.

Hours turned to days and then slowly, very slowly, those days turned to weeks, then months and years. I managed to stop the flow of blood and patch myself up. I found a mask that worked and started living again.

But under my mask, under the facade facing the rest of the world, I hold my heart together. Every now and again, on certain days or at certain times the bleeding starts anew. Fresh, dark, life blood which I desperately try to stem.

Her birthday is one of those days.

I have heard and I have been told many adopted children and adults hate their birthdays. I often wonder how A\ feels about hers. If she realises that across the city there is a house with a candle burning for her from morning to night's end. That there is a family singing Happy Birthday to a photo of her, a sister who blows out her candles that she should be blowing out. And how they all sit in silence while they eat a cake she should be there to eat. I wonder if she realises there is a woman sitting in that house silently screaming, missing her, aching to hold her, to just see her on this day of all days. That her Mother is wrapping her empty arms around herself instead of her.

I wonder if she thinks of her actual birth day. Her birth day all those years ago was not without its own pain. A sick little girl, I was told they would know by the end of the day whether or not she would make it. She did but to face her loss even then was harrowing and because of this impending loss, I was unable to hold her until the next day. I touched her though and I can still smell that NICU room, see it as it was all those years ago.

Thirteen years. They have been the hardest years of my life. They would have been the worst however getting married and having two more precious children have enriched my life in ways I could never imagine. They help me through these days and I am sure my Noodle girl will again be my little champion on Thursday with her compassionate spirit. She just knows, I don't even have to tell her.

I wish though, on Thursday, there was a different scenario to the one playing out. I wish we could all be together as a family. My greatest wish is what so many people take for granted or as evidenced in the adoption world, feel entitled to.

But really it shouldn't be a wish. It should be my reality. But it isn't and never will be. This birthday marks another year lost, another birthday lost. No matter how positive one tries to be about this situation or chooses to see it, loss remains. So while her adopters celebrate their gain on my daughter's birthday, I will be mourning her loss. A hurt that will never go away because it has cut too deep and has fractured me to my core.