One of the last bleeding “episodes” was right before Mother’s Day. My mother and sister came over to pick up my daughter and take her for a hike, so I could rest in bed. Before they left, my little girl sang this heart-achingly sweet song:
It is my favorite Mother’s Day memory.
It is a bittersweet memory.
She must have been so scared and confused.
I had stopped lifting her up and carrying her.
I had started to become afraid of her, especially when she lashed out in anger, punching and kicking, which she had begun doing several months before the pregnancy.
It must be shocking to a child to realize they have the power to make their mother afraid. They need the safety of knowing that their parents are always in charge, always setting the limits, keeping them from going off the deep-end.
When I began to fear her, she began to realize there are no limits to the destruction she could wreak. A lot of things got broken that summer: drinking glasses, picture frames… It would be too heavy-handed to add “hearts” to that list, but it’s true that a physical and psychological rift began to grow between us that we are still struggling to repair.
I worked very hard to keep things normal for her, and that meant trying to hide a lot of what was happening. But I’ve never been very good at hiding things, especially from my Reflection and Shadow.