Sunday, August 25, 2019

Madison Joan 8.26.19

Madison Joan Friel
August 10 - August 26, 2002
And here we are once again. Same place, same time, another year.  Seventeen years of torturous wondering and wanting and fantasizing. Good night again and of course I'll kiss you good morning again tomorrow. 

For everyone else, remember Madison once again, say her name for me... until 18... Love you forever, mommy

Friday, August 9, 2019

Madison Joan Friel In Memory August 10, 2019

Madison Joan Friel August 10, 2002 - August 26, 2002
In memory...

 So, I’m finally at a loss for words, or so I thought before I began writing this. 
Oh I have plenty to say.  But nothing to offer. 

Not my ‘story’ I hold onto with my raw, scraped fingertips - barely - still. 
Not my Story, My Daughter. 
My daughter.
My missing piece. Forever.
Grollman’s book on grief notes that life isn’t fair. “You must find a way to live with an unfair life—to live without the one you loved,” he writes. 
As a bereaved mother told it perfectly, “You never ‘get over it,’ you ‘get on with it,’ and you never ‘move on,’ but you ‘move forward.’”

After Madison died I hated car seats and pacifiers and laughter and sunlight. baby talk. baby bellies. baby showers, cute hair ties and bows, theme nursery drama. 

After Mason was well, I now appreciate some things like the moon. The actual moon.  A beautiful sunset. Cool Words. Speaking and walking. I appreciate my marriage and our bond.

I still hate baby showers and whiny mothers and perfect moms helping daughters with their new babies and not so new babies. 

And even though I’m glad she didn’t have to live through it, I wish my mom were there with me or a best friend or sister. I’m jealous of those with that level of support. Everyone has or had a mom. Not everyone has or gets to have a daughter.

So I don’t feel ‘so grateful’ for the time I had with her or that I got to have her at all. And I’m not accepting that Mason is here because Madison was dead. I’m not, “so amazing,” or, “so strong and positive.” And I no longer believe everything happens for a reason. You’d be amazed how many people say that in a day. No one can seem to give me a good reason, though, in 17 years. 

I believe this is my choice, yet it feels compulsory.
Or reverse that. 
I believe this is compulsory , yet it feels like my choice.

Ungrateful should be grateful that Laughter still lives in our home at all.

I’m afraid she will fade away… a gnawing, constant fear… just a story. 
I know she never will. I won’t ever allow it.

So, happy unbirthday my 17 year old girl. I celebrate you again this year and kiss you goodnight and good morning with extra daughter birthday love. 
Love you forever,