Saturday, June 16, 2012

"Is it always going to hurt this much?"

I think we all wonder that sometimes.
Sometimes I think the answer is "yes, it is always going to ache, hurt, feel raw, and pulse with new pain with each breath taken"...but then time does her thing...

I wish she would get on with it, hurry it up, get it over with (time I mean), me, I am not a big fan of hurt, mourning, pain and loss. In fact I hate all of it, I have more important things to do with my energy and with my time. Ironically, I have learned if I don't give the pain, the loss, the sadness their time, they stick around longer.

Dang-nabit they do.

Today is my oldest childs birthday. Papillion. She is not with us. I didn't get to make her breakfast, no cake was baked, no presents wrapped. My heart physically hurts today. Fortunately I do have the gentle mercy of Bugs having both a matinee and show this evening that I am in charge of concessions for, to keep my hands and body busy...

At this point I should be a champion at loss. I mean, if anyone should be 'good' at it, I should...but no matter my veteran experience, at losing best friends,a serious boy friend, and my very own children to death and miscarriage....losing a live child, that is still living and breathing is a constant barrage on the heart. THERE ARE NO WORDS FOR THIS KIND OF LOSS. There are no cards made by Hallmark, no ceremony, and most of all very little understanding for the loss of someone not mentally healthy enough to live inside your home. And still there has yet for me to never have felt something as deep and lasting, with no closure, and still constant possibility of fear and pain...this kind of loss is endured everyday..

I spoke with her today. Wishing her "Happy Birthday" as her voice broke on the phone, I told her I loved her and was so grateful for this day that brought her into this world. She wouldn't give me an address to send her anything, but via speaker phone she spoke with each one of her siblings, tearfully saying she loved them and missed them.

In three days we will come to the one year anniversary since the last moments she was in our home.
The memory is thick. I think we all feel the weight, yet as I look around between today, and those days and months following Papillion no longer being safe enough to be in our home, I know time has indeed done what she needs to do.

A year later the rawness has gone. The ache beats steadily with my own heart beat, I doubt that will ever go...but today I laughed out loud, today I hugged my other children, with out holding back a piece of myself. I didn't have to mentally talk myself out of bed and through my days like I did those first weeks.
Today I told her I loved her, and meant it, missed her, but was able to hang up the phone and move on in my day.

So I guess to answer that question, yeah, my knees always ache when it rains, and whenever I see a butterfly, I miss her....


  1. Words fail me...just sending light and love back to you.

  2. thank you for sharing the rawness and the heart. with diana, i'm sending love your way.

  3. I cannot imagine.... Surely there is always some tiny hope too...that somehow, she'll get the experience that heals her or stumble into the program that sets her straight. At least for me, even that tiniest scintilla of hope would be part of the ongoing abrasive on the wound.

    You are beyond do so much good for everyone you meet; and I do not doubt for even a moment that you brought goodness into that girl's life that is making a difference we simply can't understand.

  4. I love you. My hert aches for you. (((hug)))

  5. I won't pretend to understand what you are going through, but I would imagine the conflicting emotions overwhelm. It IS a loss, a soul crushing loss and I am sorry for your pain.

  6. Lindsay, this gave me hope. Thank you. Sending you so much love and hugs today and everyday.

  7. So sorry. For her and you. Praying we do not end up down a similar path with one of my children.

  8. We have a butterfly of our own... I can relate on so many levels. For us we are fast approaching three years since it became unsafe to have her in our home.

    People can't fathom that we mean it was unsafe for US to have her in our home... that SHE was always safe in our care!

    We've taken to celebrating her birth... because it is too painful to let the day go by unrecognized. We are happy she was born. So we celebrate.

    We pray day and night and night and day for our child who is legally an adult.

    I've been silently watching parenting adult BPD children support boards.

    I grieve because our butterfly isn't in contact with us... I rejoice because we are not afflicted by the daily drama and battles of being in close relationship with adult BPD individuals often brings...

    You are right, Hallmark has no cards.

    -Ten Beautiful Years

  9. I haven't walked in your shoes, so I can't even begin to understand how you feel. I do know that I can send you hugs and positive thoughts and tell you that I can't wait for next March when I can meet you IRL. BTW, if I bunk with you, I like to snuggle. Hehehehe

  10. I cannot believe has been a year, time goes by so fast even as it crawls by on some days. My heart also aches for you and for her and along with you I pray for "one day ...".

  11. Lindsay, reading about your children makes me thankful for the problems I have with mine-mine are minor compared to what you deal with and I am able to go to bed at night without fear of any danger from them. May the Lord grant you His grace and healing and keep you strong. Bev

  12. Beautiful post, Lindsay. Your children are blessed to have you in their lives and I feel so lucky that I got to meet you and learn from you. You are awesome!!

  13. Love you Lindsay. Thanks for sharing a piece of your heart. Praying for you and your daughter. Cynthia

  14. love you, hope today is a little easier.

  15. This broke my heart... day by day it is my fear that I will end up in this same place with my older daughter... Love to you, today!

  16. Yup. That's about it.

    And no one really knows what to say. And I don't know what they could say.

    My heart aches right along with you, for you, and for our kiddos, and for the choices and hurt we can't protect them from.

    Love you, sister.

  17. Just found your blog, and may spend hours reading it. :)

    I know the loss and the pain. Three years ago, we had to find a new home for our adopted son because we discovered he had been molesting his youngest sister for many years (in the village, in the orphanage, and in our home).

    Now . . . we must seek outside placement for our daughter (as her rages and violence have crossed all boundaries).

    So sad. So hard.

    mama of 12 (ages 10, 10, 12, 13, 15, 19, 21, 23, 23, 25, 26, 28)