Thursday, October 25, 2012

My invisible daughter.

I am often surprised by who reads my blog, and who doesn't. People who I think 'should' read it don't and others who I thought wouldn't, do.

I posted on my blog about Baby Hope about a month before I mentioned it on facebook, and then it was pretty low-key. So those IRL people who read my blog knew about Baby Hope before anyone else. Although, it wasn't planned that way, it was interesting to see who read and who didn't.  I'm not hurt anymore, like I used to be, when I would tell someone about this blog and they wouldn't read it. Now it's pffft, whatever.

But I guess there's still a part of me that is irritated that they can so easily leave the sadness. That they can just forget about it whenever they want, or pop in and read a couple of posts, dose themselves with grief and then pop back out to their shiny, perfect (or not so perfect) lives.

I've noticed that my IRL readership has dropped off. Those people who read when it was a dead-baby novelty. But maybe the grief isn't as exciting and fresh anymore. Maybe it's just boring, you know. The baby is still dead. And she will never be coming back (if she did-that would sure boost my numbers, I'm sure).

I have also noticed, that my online readership has gone up. People who are finding my blog through other sites and have come meandering over here to find that I am still here. Writing, over a year later. That the grief is still there. But it's softer. Not so harsh and ragged. I can breathe. And I guess it's encouraging in a way that I found other blogs in my early days. And there are also people who read now who are further along their path than I am. Those that have lost a child several years ago. Those whose blogs I find comforting and also maddening. WHY are there so many dead children? And WHY didn't I know about this until my own child died? WHY is our society so silent about our invisible children?

And speaking of invisible. I really like that term. My invisible daughter.

Yesterday at Costco a lady commented on the 4 children with me and were they all mine? Yes. And were the two in the cart twins? No. 8 months apart.  Oh really! And how I must be so busy. I hemmed and hawed because, well, I'm not busy enough. There is one missing. I have another one. I have an invisible daughter.  I want to scream that sometimes. Eva is missing! missing! missing! That is when Samuel informed her of everything. That little J wasn't really ours until she was adopted and that we actually had 6 kids. 6 kids! (as she counted the four with me). Where were the others? Then Samuel stopped. He doesn't like to talk about Eva being dead to strangers and I won't push him. But, no worries, Theodore picked it up from there. There is Baby Hope in mommy's belly and Eva in heaven. Oh.

Right now I have 4 visible children (including little J) and 2 invisible children (including Hope).  I like that better than what I have been saying. Living children. Because Eva is alive. She is more alive then you or I am. More alive than my boys running through the halls. But she is not visible to me. The substance that I long to hold and hug and kiss and admire is not there but Eva is still there, just invisible. And one fine day she will be visible to me again. And how I long for that day.

I love you my beautiful invisible daughter. Until the day I set my eyes on you again. I will always love you.


14 comments:

  1. I like that too. Our invisible children... ~Renee

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    1. Me too. It was one of the kids who thought it up first. And I've latched on. How I miss our invisible daughters.

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  2. Oh your invisible daughter. That really works even if you don't believe in heaven because for me Camille is still a part of my daily life. Invisible for sire but no less loved. I'm finding too that IRL people seem to roll their eyes at us STILL grieving our child. Ugh. Morons. 6 kids! That's a van load for sure.

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    1. I know. How is it possible that we are STILL grieving our children. And Camille is always a part of your family. Only invisible.
      And yes, a vanload for sure. But it's not as full as it should be.

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  3. My oldest daughter talks about B as if she was still here but away somewhere, we spoke about it once and I made sure she understood that B wasn't going to come back and she just explained if she just thinks of her as away she doesn't miss her so much. I wish sometimes I could deal with this through her eyes

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  4. Even though they are not in our arms for others to see, we carry them with us always. Invisible children seems to fit. Grief is never ending it just becomes bearable and sadly no one gets that until it happens to them. Love to you Em and your 6 babies.

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  5. Love reading your posts. I don't even know how to tell who reads my posts. As far as I know my family does not even know that I have one, so all of my readers are people who have stumbled upon my blog.

    Keep writing and I'll keep reading. I enjoy reading about sad and happy times.

    ((hugs))

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  6. I'll try your phrase on for size. So, I have one visible daughter and one invisible son. Except, he's always always in my mind. If people could see into my mind, they'd be alarmed at just how much of it is consumed with thoughts of my "invisible" son. Life used to be so much simpler.

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  7. You definitely hit this one! Love the part where you say she IS alive, just not visible! Funny coincidence also that while my blog is entitled missing little hands, it's URL is actually Our life invisible...

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  8. I am not sure if I am classified as an IRL or an on-line reader, but I do stop in because I care about you, your family and what you are going through. An invisible child is still apart of your life forever. My Mom used to say when people asked, "I had 5, I raised 4 and I have 3." Life and love are so full of joy and pain aren't they?

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  9. I have an identical readership profile. I only gave my blog out to a few real life folk, but I don't think any of them read it now. It really amazes me, because if someone I knew was writing a real down and dirty - this is how it is blog, I am sure I would read it... but I think people actually actively don't want to know what it's like to lose a child. One of my friends told me she couldn't read it, because she wouldn't be able to be my friend any more if she did. It made her too cross with me. She said I sounded bitter and twisted, when in real life, I'm not like that. Doh.

    My bereaved readership has gone up too - I think there are relatively few blogs that continue after years. I know a few bloggers who stopped - they told me they ran out of energy to say the same stuff over and over. I miss her. I'm unhappy.

    I love the IC. I usually think of the DKC (Dead Kids club - but I know some people don't like the Dead word... but the ICC is lovely. I also like the IC as a double meaning - invisible children and I SEE! I see Dead kids. Don't we all xx

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  10. Bonjour Em,

    I also really like that term, my invisible son. Liam is a part of my every day life, you can't see him, but he's always with me. I even feel Liam's presence more as I grow his baby brother. Do you feel that way too about Eva?

    I'm rooting for Baby Hope from afar, and always remembering your beautiful Eva.

    Sending luck and love and strength from Montréal xx

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  11. I'm still reading your bloG and praying for you.

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  12. I love the idea of our children being invisible. It totally sums up how we feel. They are ever present but unseen by others.
    I didn't tell anyone in RL about my blog but one or two people found it (by googling my sons name, before I was more careful). I really don't want RL people to read it. I think it curtails my honesty. I didn't announce my rainbow baby on fb until she was born but I did on my blog much earlier. It's funny, like two different readerships and two different faces.

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