Friday, January 21, 2011

The Shadow of a Girl

Charlotte is very present in our home, even obvious, if you spend a little time here. For the most part, she is a known, present part of our family to whomever sees her here. When you know about our tiniest, but biggest girl, it comes as no surprise to see her name written on a plate hanging on the wall, or stitched into a cross stitch, or to see her birth-card, bracelet, and lock of hair behind glass in a shadow box alongside the other three.
But what of the other people, the ones who don't know, and who might not ask?
I think this about a few babysitters we have had, girls from the neighborhood who are 15 now and whose mothers knew about Charlotte when they were 8, but might not have told them. Do they sleuth around the house after our children are sleeping, hoping to piece together the mystery of the child no longer here? Do they go home and ask their mothers, and hear the sad tale of the young, vibrant new couple who moved in, glowingly pregnant, only to lose the baby a few months later? Do they hear the awful word I always avoid, stillborn?
I've been wondering a lot lately about the woman I've had the luxury of having to come and clean (not pick up, but actually CLEAN) my house since Fiona was born. For half a year it was a gift from my mother to have her come, and for the remaining half it has been the gift I give to myself. In fact, it's been the best gift perhaps I've ever given myself, to have this lovely, kind, soft, hippie-ish woman come and clean up the house after I've spent two days picking up all the things hiding the actual house from sight. She comes every two weeks, which seems incredibly often given how frequently I used to clean the house, and she's thoughtful and kind and does a wonderful job. I'm usually home while she's here, but cautious to stay out of her way. And she goes everywhere in our house, so she sees the cradle full of Charlotte's things in our room, and the huge, gigantic photo exhibit over our bed that features 12 , 9x13 photographs in stark, black and white of Greg and I holding her on the thirteenth of May. She dusts the shadowbox and the plate, and she also sees Liam, and Aoife, and Fiona running around the house (inevitably dropping cookie crumbs on the carpet she's just vacuumed) so she knows this is a child who is not here. She's never asked, and I've never had a moment where I felt compelled to explain to her. I'm sure some day Charlotte will come up. But for now, I just wonder what she thinks, where her mind goes with the mystery of this child who clearly did not make it.
In some ways, I suppose, this is why I like having Charlotte pasted all over our home: it means that even if I don't want, or have the chance, to share her with people, they still know she exists. They still see our family as missing a piece, an essential piece, and they know enough to see the shadow of a little girl, seven years young, flash before their eyes. Someday, I'll tell the tale. But for now, this is enough.

5 comments:

Emily said...

I used to babysit for a family as a teen who had lost a son before they had the two girls for whom I looked after. Upon meeting their eldest daughter for the first time she proudly showed me the photos on their mantle of her dead older brother. She called him her brother in heaven. I once went and looked at the baby book they had for him. I know from the pictures that he spent time in the NICU and that he was full term (or at least close to it) but I never found out why he died. I still wonder about him to this day. So yeah, I bet those people who come into your home do wonder. They probably just figure it's not their place to ask.

Ya Chun said...

Beautiful...

I wondered this when my SIL and cousin-in-law were here last week. Did they see Serenity as part of our everyday life? Did they notice her urn, her little corner of the house?

Your house sounds so magical. I picture Charlotte sprinkling fairy dust around your other children, infusing them with life and love.

Big Love, Big Acceptance - or so I say said...

this is so timely for me as I'm pregnant with my second child, the hopeful first living child I will get to parent. I wonder how to keep our first daughter, Acacia, alive in our home. And like you said, how to invite others to witness her life without me saying a word. I've begun to notice I'm really starting to worry/struggle with friends and family forgetting Acacia as we await this next child. Hmmm...something I will continue to ponder.

Hope's Mama said...

I have had similar experiences. Workmen coming here to do certain things around our house. Neighbours dropping in who moved to the neighbourhood after the fact. Parts of our house resemble a shrine to our missing little girl, so I do often wonder what they think. I hate that I often feel uneasy and begin to feel sorry for them that they have to see it all, but I snap out of that pretty quickly because as hard as it may be for them, it is certainly a lot harder for us actually living with it each and every day.

Pietrowski's of North Andover said...

Beautiful...