There are some nights when I’m caught off guard.
I miss her everyday. But it’s just part of my reality most days. I accept that she’s not here. It sucks. But I do laundry, play with the boys and generally live my life. But tonight? I found myself actually crying real tears. I don’t cry, outwardly, all that often about missing my daughter. And when I do, I feel very strange.
You know?
I mean. I’m lucky. I have a relationship with her. She got on the phone again the other day and told me, yet again, that she loves playing with me. I’m so darn lucky. But as I was standing here this evening, I was just overwhelmed with missing her. I was awash in the lack of her presence. I stared at her pictures on the wall and tears just poured down my face.
It’s hard. These moments. Sometimes I feel all put together and adjusted to what is our reality as “mother” and “daughter.” But then just one thing will trigger an emotional breakdown. I don’t even know what the trigger was this evening. Perhaps it’s just because she’s on my heart and mind right now. I don’t know.
And it’s evenings like these that make me want to slap people who tell me that I should get over it. Or that I didn’t love my daughter. Or that she’s better off without me. Or that my pain isn’t real because I chose this or since I have a relationship with her. Or any other myriad of stupidity.
I hurt sometimes. More often than I admit to anyone other than my Husband. He sees the tears. He hears my fears. He holds my hand when I can’t find the words to explain the pain. I have faith that if something was to happen to me, he could explain to her someday that she was always loved, always important and always so very special to me. Even still, I know that’s not enough.
So I suck it up and I push forward. I don’t “move on” or “move forward.” I continue on in my reality, accepting the highs and lows as they come. I often think that lows follow on the coattails of highs. Just simply to remind me not to get too cocky in this fickle world of grief and loss healing.
I don’t have the answers. But I do have a daughter. And she’s awesome. And so is her Mom.
In the words of SNL tonight, I don’t know what the blog I’m blogging about, Sonic the Hedgeblog, so I’m going to go to bed and read for a bit and hope that the Sandman comes before another wave of tears. I hate going to church with puffy,all-night-sobbing eyes. So not awesome.
7 Responses to “Strange Night”
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oh, sweetie, this made me cry. i so understand. it is with me every day and has been for 22 years. for me, it got worse with reunion. now that i know where she is, what she looks like, her name, etc. i cannot stop thinking about her. i do well for moments, hours and then something really benign will trigger me and send me into a puddle of tears or making a run for the ladies room so i can sob i private.
hugs. i know. i so know.
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Adoption is loss, no matter what privileges we can get from it. You are still not spending all the time you would with her if you were parenting her. You have a relationship, and some input on how she thinks, what she does, and so on, but you are not her primary caretaker. Of course it is hard. Don’t ever let anyone get under your skin and let them say how lucky you are, how great you have it, or any of the other comments that people don’t really understand that they say.
I realized awhile ago, that these people who say these things, are so uncomfortable with our pain, that they try to console us. It is not for our comfort, but theirs.
It’s okay for you to cry.
HeatherRainbow’s last blog post..Privileges
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Who the heck tells you to get over it? If someone told me that about infertility I probably would have punched them.
pickel’s last blog post..Adoption Quote of the Week
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Okay, well not really. But you know what I mean.
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Okay, well not really. But you know what I mean.
pickel’s last blog post..I Have a Voice
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It’s totally remarkable to me how the emotions in many of our (blogging first moms) posts seem to travel on the same wavelengths.
I don’t have the answers either. All I know is that I miss my daughter, too.
(((Hugs))) to you.
Coco’s last blog post..Today
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Jenna you have (are) opening my eyes (heart) to what my birthmother may experience…
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