My veil
Sometime I feel fake. And I loathe fake people. But since losing Jorai and now Selah, I feel like I put up this veil of fake Kim so that I can seem normal...when really, I'm no where near normal. I'm a mother of two dead children. Two. I'm 34 and I've buried (cremated...whatever) two out of three, of my children. That's sick and wrong.
I still look at my wall ...at the photo's of my babies. Three photos divide our front windows. And I still can't believe that two of those babies aren't with me. They're not upstairs sleeping, as their brother sleeps. Some times I let myself dream of that. Three babies in my house. Three under our roof, a part of our family in the every day sense. I just let my mind dream that they're right upstairs, just out of my reach. But then reality comes crashing in and I once again, I become the mama of 2 dead children and 1 living toddler.
So I place this veil on to hide my pain. To hide my sorrow. Not really to protect others, but to protect me. To allow myself to feel some semblance of normalcy. But I'm always waiting for someone to ask how I am or ask about my children. My veil isn't that thick...it can't protect me from that. I know there will be times where my veil won't fully hide my pain or sorrow or story.
I used to be this happy go-lucky kid. I was the dreamer. I had this huge smile and laugh and always looked onwards and upwards. Losing a child and then another...has changed that. It's hard to dream. It's hard to smile big...laugh big. I smile...I laugh...but not the way I used to. And the person I used to be, has long ago, gone into hiding behind a veil in an attempt to protect myself from pain.
I hate that. Sometimes, I think loss is all consuming. It changes so much about who you are. It's almost as if the loss itself has taken parts of you away, never to be returned in their entirety again. That sucks.
I still look at my wall ...at the photo's of my babies. Three photos divide our front windows. And I still can't believe that two of those babies aren't with me. They're not upstairs sleeping, as their brother sleeps. Some times I let myself dream of that. Three babies in my house. Three under our roof, a part of our family in the every day sense. I just let my mind dream that they're right upstairs, just out of my reach. But then reality comes crashing in and I once again, I become the mama of 2 dead children and 1 living toddler.
So I place this veil on to hide my pain. To hide my sorrow. Not really to protect others, but to protect me. To allow myself to feel some semblance of normalcy. But I'm always waiting for someone to ask how I am or ask about my children. My veil isn't that thick...it can't protect me from that. I know there will be times where my veil won't fully hide my pain or sorrow or story.
I used to be this happy go-lucky kid. I was the dreamer. I had this huge smile and laugh and always looked onwards and upwards. Losing a child and then another...has changed that. It's hard to dream. It's hard to smile big...laugh big. I smile...I laugh...but not the way I used to. And the person I used to be, has long ago, gone into hiding behind a veil in an attempt to protect myself from pain.
I hate that. Sometimes, I think loss is all consuming. It changes so much about who you are. It's almost as if the loss itself has taken parts of you away, never to be returned in their entirety again. That sucks.
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