HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME--TODAY-- FOR BIRTHING A CHILD I NO-LONGER KNOW.
Fifty-one years ago today, January 15, 1966, I gave birth to Rosemond, my youngest daughter.
One year later, The local Newspaper featured a photo of the three of us---my two daughters, Rosemond and Myra, and me--- in a Mother's Day Photo.
So many Mother's Days have passed since the three of us were together.....so many I've lost count.....and I no longer go to the mailbox expecting a card.
It's interesting to note how adjusting to loss is like lifting weights. At first, the weight of my grief could only
be measured in small increments---minutes, then hours, then, gradually, weeks. Now, I'm incredibly stronger. Today, my level of endurance is measured by years.
Each morning I wake up....stronger than yesterday because I
survived another night. Nights are my most challenging, most vulnerable time. Alone in the dark--my memories gather to taunt me with sweet thoughts of happier times; of more hopeful yesterdays. I battle with myself to stop thinking. I use all
my strength to exercise restraint. Blessed sleep is my most-valued salvation.
Learning to survive abandonment by those you gave life......is a living death. Yes, with enough time, acceptance becomes a pattern, a new way of living, but.....my
great-big-loving heart will never stop asking "Why."