Saturday, December 12, 2020
Once Upon a Time
My estranged daughter's birthday was on December 9th. I did something a little different this year. I wrote a little poem about how I felt and sent it to a sibling who had lost his son on December 10th (a crib death). And in that act, which was spontaneous, there was the recognition that reaching out and sharing pain can be so healing.
I didn't feel as broken as I normally do on her birthday. And I know her birthday is long forgotten many birthdays in my family. Obliterated. I feel she is erased. Which doesn't help my solitary pain. Apart from her sister - we remember and commiserate and share and overanalyze her distance and cautiously explore the one media outlet we are not blocked from. We have become professional lurkers as one false click or move will set her off again and we will have no updates. By updates I mean that we know she's alive and hasn't killed herself or been killed. And I don't say that in high drama mode. She has attempted it before. So we tread lightly, as we always have with her. The eggshell dance.
And another thing, a friend reached out to me and shared that her son had estranged himself and she was in such pain. She is one of quite a few who have done this now, mainly because I am open with my sharing of it. There is no shame or blame as some people think. It just is.
So here's a pic of my glorious girlie in absentia and the poem I wrote.
For JJ December 9, 2020.
Another trip around the sun is completed.
And I reflect on the day of your birth
Again. And again. And again.
And how my reality
Didn't match your reality.
I thought there was
I thought there was joy
I was alone.
My memories are