6 years, 16 days

I was accused, this past year, of talking about my daughter to get attention. In my weaker moments I've wondered if that's really what people think? Could I be that person and not know it?

How can you understand the devotion and joy that comes from being a mother and think that? But it's one of the factors that has kept me from writing.  Because, as painful as this whole process has been, do I really want to open myself up to continued criticism?

I was already overthinking every post. There was a constant internal dialogue...

• Do I want this out there?
• Do I want people to google me and see this?
• I should change it back to an anonymous profile.
• No, I'll leave it.
• I'll delete the blog.
• I just won't post anymore.

And then my job changed and instead of working with the same old safe people who knew my history I had thousands of new coworkers and a new chain of command.

• Do I want them to know? 
• What if I have to look for a new job. Do I want them to know?
• Will people see me differently when they see me wearing my emotions on the internet? Will they think I'm broken and skip me over for opportunities?

Well, everyone I know knows eventually. There is still an awkward moment when the truth comes out. When someone asks how old my oldest daughter is and if she's off at college.

"Oh... well my oldest would have been 26 this year, but she's no longer with us."

Yes, I still refuse to say that I only have two children. It feels like a lie. So even when it's exhausting or I really don't want to explain it, I do.

I got to be the mother of this amazing little sprite who doesn't live here anymore. She's still my firstborn. Nothing can take that away.

And what if I can help someone?

I thought... who is going to google me anyway?

So I discarded any notions of removing the blog or making it anonymous again. But I let the anniversary pass in relative silence, at least publicly. I didn't write a letter to my daughter. And I felt guilty for skipping it. I don't miss her any less, and I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to acknowledge her.

And then someone at my new company stumbled upon my blog. I felt my heart sputter when I realized what had happened.

Why do I care? Because I have to pay my bills. How we expose ourselves to the world has an impact. That's a lesson I try to instill upon my kids, I'm not going to ignore it.

I'm not ashamed, but I still asked... Is it weird that it's out there?

It's weird for me anyway. I'm not an exhibitionist, I'm trying to do something good. And sometimes that something good is as small as having an outlet for my grief.  Sometimes I really do believe that I can find a way to help some other parent, or even help save a life. 

And this gracious person said "Don't ever think it's weird. It's beautiful. And what if you help someone?"

And the world didn't end.

And here I am writing about this and realizing that the weird thing is that my grief should cause me any doubt or shame. Because what if I help someone? What if my baby girl has the chance to help someone? Even if it's just me.