Rambling

I wrote this a few months ago, part of my grieving process.

October, 25 days till my youngest would have been 12. A girl on the cusp of young womanhood. A girl with dreams as large as the outdoors. She wanted to go to veterinary school to care for horses. To own a sprawling farm and be where she loved to be. Out with nature.
Splashing in a puddle in the front yard. Coming in coated from head to toe with mud, teeth chattering with the hugest smile on her face. Irritation as well for being called in for something so mundane as dinner.
Her high pitched screeching at her brother or anyone else for that matter if she felt slighted or just plain angry at someone. I bade her to quit being a fishwife every time.
I am going to make her favorite cake on her day. Lemon poppyseed if you must know. And anyone who thinks me mad can go straight to hell.
If anyone asks how many children I have the answer will always be THREE. This body has borne and nursed THREE babies, thank you very much. No confusion or stumbling with the answer. I have two daughters and a son.
I will never know how she'd have grown into womanhood, but I can make guesses. And my daughter is in my heart, always. All my children are. She was the most like me. Our interests, views and humor were like train tracks. Marching side by side on into the vista.
I was looking forward to the arguments, the conversations, the laughably matronly advice that would be ignored until she reached an age where she realized I was right all the while. The sweet scents of a growing girl wafting from her room. Lotion, scent, hairspray permeating a room. To have her elder sister teach her how to apply makeup, fuss with her hair. I've never been too great at that. I wear it too rarely to really be a pro at it. If you see it on me, it's because I'm getting a picture taken or I'm dressed up to go out.
All the unanswered questions I have weighing heavy on my heart, bogging down my brain. All the 'whys, hows, whatifs'.

You'll never know, that's at the center of it all. To doubt your judgement, your quality as a parent, to blame yourself, to think that maybe if one fraction of any given moment were any different you could have waylaid this slashing pain.
If I had one wish, just one, it would be to wish her back. Not for money, nor fame or anything with ties to either. To have my girl in my arms again. To laugh with her, watch her grow and just be with her. To not have tears rolling down my face every day. To not feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest every time I see her sweet face smiling at me from a picture. To not be ripped out of sleep with that awful image in my head nor to feel the crushing grief when it sinks in that it's not a dream, it's my reality. Full of so much love, I am loved. That she is loved never in doubt. I gathered her to me every day, greedily receiving hugs and returning them with fervor. All my children, so loved. So very dear.
I am having a very hard time accepting that she is gone. My head knows it, my heart cannot take it. My mothers heart. It's too huge, too 'out there', too unreal. Too horrible. So you let the fog take you. Milkweed puff on the wind, a ship without its mooring.
Friends are the anchors, but even they weary of the pain of it. You're too raw, not the same, the record keeps skipping back to the same old place. And you watch them turn away from you when you need them the most. You've become a bummer, to quote a phrase. A killjoy, a downer. You don't fit into their slot of them trying to avoid their own inner dialogue.
Everyone thinks you need 'time to yourself'. Um, NO, you don't. Who the hell would want that? A day yawning in front of you. Too much time to think, too much time to have the undertow pulling you down over and over again. To even entertain following the loved one to make the agony cease. So you hear things like "Oh she wouldn't want you to be like this, to be grieving so." Who the hell can know such things? "You need to move on." No, ASS, you need to learn some diplomacy with a whole heaping side order of EMPATHY. It's too easy for people to preach on what they know nothing about. The absolute tidal wave of people I've met who have lost children is enormous, and they know exactly what it is like. You NEVER get over the loss of a child, you just adapt and cope with a part of you missing. A soul amputee.

It's always crouched in some corner, waiting to pounce on you. To catch you unawares. A child calling, a phrase your child liked to use, a sparkle in a pair of eyes, a similar laugh, a picture unearthed from a box, a poem or card that opens the wound again.
Babies, ahhh babies. That's another thing books and general BS information neglects. How badly you'd like to have another child. Not to replace the child who has died, that is impossible. But to experience the miracle again, to heap, double, the love on a babe. Bittersweet to feel again the kick of a little one within.
I relished being pregnant, I felt absolutely glorious. I never hid that baby bump, it was all out there. Center stage. I'm PREGNANT. I felt like a goddess. I looked forward to meeting every one of my children and was so enraptured over everything they did. I didn't give a flip about morning sickness, swollen ankles and stretch marks. I bore it all knowing I was bringing something marvelous into the world. And the stretch marks I consider battle wounds. A proud road map permanently on my skin to announce that I am a MOTHER. There really should be an award for valor, a purple heart for a job well done. Mothers are such unsung heroes.
I'd really like to know what moron decided that it was to be looked down upon for the honest desire to make home, hearth and children a point of pride. It's all I've ever wanted to do, even at a young age.
To have someone openly look at you with pity or disdain for wanting to do what I feel is a womans place. It shouldn't be looked down upon but hailed. I am proud to be a mother and homemaker. Damned proud.
And yes, I'm rambling. Hence the title.

I just wish to hug you, if I could.

you are a remarkable woman, dont change.
:-)

Thank you 🙂

I am deeply moved at this and so sorry for your loss. I did not know and I have no words that can help you Im sorry.

That's plenty Tate. Thank you.

My cousin lost his ten year old son just over a year ago. I can't imagine what it must feel like to be a parent who loses a child, but having witnessed it at close quarters I feel a deep sense of injustice that such a thing can even happen, and a sense that this is simply impossible, like the fabric of the universe has become somehow jumbled and needs to be restored to its natural state to make everything right again. But life is untidy and sometimes just plain wrong. Stay fabulous VB, you're a credit to the human race and clearly the best type of mother - one who embraces her role with pride and passion.

Thank you VM, if you were standing before me I'd give you a huge hug. All of you. Thank you for your kind words.