Chapter 53. Eligible to vote
Strength
Image: Blank list white on purple background with third line checked.
To my sweet girl,
I first wrote this letter two years ago, on your 16th birthday, with tears streaming down my face. My heart was hurting that I couldn’t be there to share your milestone celebration. I went looking for the one photo I thought I still had of you and your sister holding Little One on the front steps of your grandparents’ house but I couldn’t find it. Instead, I found bittersweet videos of you from Easters, Christmases and random summer weekends so long ago.
Then I found a video from your birthday, not knowing when I filmed it that it would be the last one I would celebrate with you. There you were, grinning ear to ear, devouring a tower of your favourite donuts instead of a cake. I hadn’t remembered that detail of what we were eating until I saw it playing before me on the screen. I guess I was too busy behind the lens at that moment, capturing all the visual memories on everyone’s behalf, as I so often did.
Then we blink and today is your 18th birthday. You’re an adult in some regards now: eligible to vote in the next election but not legally allowed to drink, smoke or vape. I really hope you don’t do the last three in that list because you’re so likely to become an addict through a combination of nature and nurture.
If you were really free from their nonsense, would you vote in favour of reconnecting with me? Have you matured enough to begin seeing their insanity for what it is? Have you outgrown the anxiety you inherited? Are you still empathetic, creative and caring? Did you ever sense that you were my favourite? You were the kind-hearted girl who asked thoughtful questions about others, who was generous in spirit, time and energy.
Over the years, I have looked you up online a handful of times to see if I could find anything publicly available about you. You performed in a variety of high school productions and I think you have a boyfriend now. You probably babysat in your neighbourhood many times.
I imagine you started driving from the day you turned 16, maybe earlier if your family dared to sneak you around in a parking lot. You’ve probably had part-time and summer jobs for the last few years and I can see that you continued your formal education, as expected. I wonder if Prince Harming or Her Highness already feel threatened by your intelligence?
Do you ever think about me and Little One? I hope you do. I hope we haven’t been erased from your memory. I have no idea what horrific lies he told you on the day he left us for good. It must have been plenty to keep you from ever reaching out to me.
We live elsewhere now and we have a very good life, a much healthier life than we had in your neighbourhood. Of all the people in your family that have disavowed my existence, you’re the only one I truly miss. I have dreamt of you several times since we last saw each other and, in those dreams, I have been able to hug you again and tell you that I love you. I hope you feel that. Maybe you’ll reach out one day when it’s safe to do so. I certainly look forward to it.
This morning, I invited three loved ones to pray for you to be freed from your family’s lies and dysfunction. You are an adult now. Please make your own choices.
And happy birthday, sweetheart. XO
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Postscript
I finally saw you face to face last month, in real life rather than a dream, for the first time since The Discarding nearly half your lifetime ago.
You are a young Mom now. Whatthefuckingfuck???
I am gobsmacked by this forever change to your identity, your directions in life and the new roles that it represents for other members of your extended family. Your baby’s equally-young grandmother was walking with you that morning. She had the courtesy to say hello to me after I waved from across the street. You just looked at me blankly: not a smile, not a glimmer of recognition.
Did my face mask made it difficult for you to recognize me? Did your family erase my existence out of your head and heart so fast after The First Discarding that you had forgotten who I was all these years later?
Maybe.
It’s more likely that you were some combination of shocked, surprised, protective, embarrassed and ashamed that I was seeing you out in the sunlight, unmasked and pushing a stroller that revealed so many unspoken truths to me in an instant.
Do you have any idea how much restraint it took for me not to rush over and hug you, like I have wanted to and dreamed about for so many years? Would you believe that I wanted to congratulate you on this precious new life you’ve brought into the world, even though it’s much earlier in your journey than I could have imagined? Can you appreciate how much I wanted to finally make a genuine human connection with you, regardless of your elders’ bullshit? I guess this moment gives new definition to “social distancing.”
It’s your 21st birthday today and the first birthday you will spend with your little girl in your arms. You’re the first grandchild and she’s the first great-grandchild in a family that takes such pride in legacies. I tried to push these facts out of my mind all morning by distracting myself with other tasks. When I finally sat down for a moment of rest with Little One, your special day took hold of my consciousness in an instant. I chose to lean into those feelings and memories rather than push them away.
I’ve replayed that brief glimpse of you from many different angles during the past month. I’m still seeking to understand, in ways I never will, what was going through your mind 30 days ago and who you called or texted right after you rolled away with your daughter. I imagined that your first move was to inform Her Highness that you saw me, an assumption fuelled by my trauma, of course. Perhaps you just texted a friend or the baby’s father called or something else completely unrelated to me, our shared history and the heavy silence I live with.
Did you and your mother talk about that moment later in the day? And what, if anything, did she say about it? Did she let you express any feelings of curiosity and confusion or did she shut you down and wave it off, denying the opportunity for it to matter to you? Does she secretly keep any photos or videos of us from your early days or was all evidence of me completely erased from your home in a selective rewriting of history?
A new depth of feeling revealed itself to me today and I can name it as anguish not grief.1 Until today, I had considered so much of my loss from my own perspective. Now, I realize that our parting was never your choice, either. We were both denied the opportunity to say goodbye to one another or to have any contact at all. I doubt it was your preference for me to vanish completely from your life after a decade of frequent interaction. I don’t even believe this was your mother’s choice. We all have Prince Harming and Her Highness to thank for the scorched earth between us. They will both go to their graves firmly believing that they did the right thing by keeping us apart.
Through my own magical thinking, I would like to believe that you and I could have found ways to stay in contact and maintain healthy boundaries, as some extended families do after a relationship between adults comes to an end. I certainly would not have wanted to be in the presence of your elders during family gatherings after The First Discarding but it could have been healthy and healing for both of us to have our own adventures around town, like we used to. I would have found my own ways to celebrate your accomplishments and uplift your spirit. Perhaps, as my own recovery evolved and you aged into a more independent state, I could have modelled some healthier alternatives to the layers of dysfunctional Family Code that you’ve been swimming in for 2.1 decades so far.
I have so many questions about who and what you are now, starting with the notable absence of the baby’s father when I saw you. Perhaps he was working or prioritizing other activities that morning.
Was he kind to you for however long your relationship lasted?
Was he allowed into your extended family, even briefly, but never the inner circle?
Were you welcomed into his family? Are they kind, loving people?
Did he run for the hills before your baby was born or was he forced out by Her Highness?
Does your child have any contact with her paternal elders?
Was there any talk of not having this baby, from his side or yours?
Were his interactions with you always consensual, even if this one result was accidental? Or was this outcome purposeful, even if you’re the only person who knows that truth?
Do you secretly or outwardly identify with the 2SLGBTQIA+ community or have any friends who do? Are you curious about polyamory or ethical non-monogamy? Were you ever interested in having BIPOC friends or partners? Would you have the courage to pursue any of those paths, if they were authentic for you, despite whatever vitriol your elders would have spewed about it?
How do you handle the physical and social isolation of being the only one in your peer group with these huge responsibilities? Are you living with your family of origin and all that means for enmeshment and a new generation of codependency? Did they suggest that one beer per week was okay during your pregnancy so that you didn’t feel left out of their rituals or did you completely abstain? Were you weekly binge-drinking with them before or after your little one was born? Are you pumping and dumping or bringing the occasional traveler in your stainless steel coffee mug because “chardonnay all day” is seemingly acceptable for overwhelmed Mommies now?2
Did you name your little one after your mother, Her Highness or both? Does she enjoy the same squeaky toy you had when you were her age? Does she have the same favourite animal on her bedroom walls that you once did? Was she born with any of the health conditions that you have outgrown? Does she look like you or like your beloved grandfather, perhaps?
Does Prince Harming mostly ignore her since she’s not old enough to act rationally and her presence involves so many body fluids that he can’t tolerate? Or does he ignore her because she’s in the spotlight now? Even worse, does he post pictures on Fucking Facebluck of him holding her so that he can attract a temporary partner by maintaining an illusion of caring and nurturing? That would be history repeating because you were the one he was holding in his dating profile when I chose him so many moons ago.
Whatever today holds for you and your special milestone-birthday-as-new-Mom, please know that I am thinking of you and our good times together. I still love you and want the best for you and your daughter. That’s all I have left.
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Post Postscript another three years later
We passed each other through the double doors of the community centre that was hosting the craft show. You were merrily singing a Christmas tune as I clocked you. You looked directly at me for the briefest of seconds, barely an arm’s length apart, but I was in the small minority of people wearing masks that day so I’m not sure you could have recognized me, even if you wanted to. If I were going to film this moment, it would be in slow motion.
You were alone, no bags, no family nearby. It seemed odd to me that you didn’t have a coat with you given the shift in weather. Maybe you left it in your vehicle. Not suprisingly, you must have gotten there the minute the show opened if you were already leaving when I walked in. From appearance alone, I wasn’t completely sure it was you. It was that visceral gut punch of a feeling again that made me feel almost certain. It’s like I sensed you before I saw you. I wondered why your daughter wasn’t with you this time. Is she too much of a handful now that she’s well outgrown her stroller? Or did you think you’d find some gifts for her and didn’t want to spoil the surprise?
A five second search finds your social media profile and your brief biography that is publicly visible confirms that my instincts were accurate: it’s just you and your little girl. He’s not part of your picture, literally or figuratively. Whatever that means to you and your child, I hope you’re both finding a healing way forward.
Until next time, sweetheart. XO
Thanks to Brené Brown’s “Atlas of the Heart” for defining anguish so poignantly.