Life After Limbo

RealDaughter had an interesting post on the apathy (or whatever you want to call it) that comes after some period of time in limbo or non reunion or whatever. I am being all vague and cryptic because as you will see if you read my comment on her post I am not sure I agree with it being called apathy but I agree its, well, there, and it is something. I just don’t know what to call it.

When you are in limbo for years the feelings of early reunion certainly change. They have for me. Have they for you?

I am not asking those that are in active reunions (no matter how difficult), those that have ongoing contact, etc. I am asking those that, like me, were never granted a real reunion.

Nearly six years ago, I was overflowing with emotion for my daughter, at the prospect of reunion, my heart raced, my emotions flowed.   I was so giving, so, well, so OPEN. My home was open to her, her brothers, my family, my life, her story, my wallet, my love, whatever she needed and wanted.

Back then I was full of loving emotion, desire, interest, want, curiosity and more.

I handed her my life and soul on a plate and she returned it (figuratively of course).

Six years later?  Meh, not so much. I took my heart, pieced it back together as best I could and shoved it back into my chest.

Yet something remains.

Is this the natural maturation process of limbo? Or is it something more?  Apathy sounds so, well, negative. Uncaring. Disconnected.  I dont feel that but I dont feel like I once did.

This  simultaneously worries and saddens me.  To me, less emotion, less feeling seems to equate itself to less love, less caring.

That makes me sad.

Is it acceptance of things as a commenter on RealDaughters blog suggest?

Or something else?

2 Thoughts.

  1. You have a wonderful way with words and a gift for expressing feelings in a way that others can naturally relate to. As I read, I saw myself as I traveled through the reunion process. And yes, I do think that at some point one does reach a state of acceptance as I am reminded of whenever I read the serenity poem that my mother used to keep hanging on the wall above her bed. I suspect that acceptance blends in with the realization that you have done everything you possibly could do to be the best mother that one can possibly be. And you certainly seem to have done so.

  2. “less emotion, less feeling seems to equate itself to less love, less caring”

    Suz, I have had many conversations with people who are in the process of grieving the loss of a loved one and who express the same fear, almost verbatim. It’s a normal part of the acceptance stage of the grief process. The caring never goes away, it just moves from the foreground to the background.

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