Packing for a move reveals the things that fall into the cracks and crevices; today it was photographs of the children I used to babysit for. I wept with much bitterness and realized that even though three months have passed, my heart is still broken up over the loss of them from my lives.
Now that the anger I had is gone, I imagine that there might a solution to this ache, that I might be able to see my boo boo and squish once more. There is no reconciling that I can have with her, the mother, so that will be impossible. She cracked through my veneer maliciously and left me ruined. I cannot ever see her or speak nicely to her again.
The photographs from each year of the older child's life and random ones I happened to take were the most difficult to look at. Her year old picture that was sent out to family and friends is one I took of her in the garden pressing a finger to her nose (in response to the question, Where's your nose?), which was deemed by her, the mother, a cute way to show that she'd turned one. As for the squish, there is an ever present ache, for the adoration we shared was quite intense. I do not need photos to show how absolutely adorable she was, how responsive and curious she was, how she clung to me and was relieved to see me most days.
The entire matter of our breech is still a mystery to me, how my behavior was so misinterpreted, how every thing I did was seen as a move against them, despite the fact that I gave up my life for three weeks to be there. Futhermore, the absence of her husband from all of this means that this was entirely her decision that he supported her in and that might be the biggest hurt of it all.
No comments:
Post a Comment