One:
The days are long and hot. The sky is endless blue. Washington is beautiful this time of year. Sweat drips down my forehead as I look over the shared parenting agreement one last time from my best friend’s deck. It all looks good. All seems fair. Yet I still feel guilty for looking forward to having some free time again. I know I will miss her like crazy. I have no doubt about that. I’ll ache for her like socks on a cold winter night. Like a raincoat during a downpour. Like cream and sugar in bitter black coffee. I will wonder what she’s doing every moment she isn’t around.
But there will also be days where I am carefree and happy to be childless. I know I will wake up some mornings, anxious to start the day and get her off to school, only to realize moments later that it’s not one of my days. Then I’ll fall back against my soft, warm pillows and luxuriate in the silence. The nothingness and the freedom of planning the day around only myself will feel incredible.
The boys have kept Addy so busy this trip. I know she will have sibling withdrawal when we get home. She has three brothers here, my best friends kids, and they all love her and want her attention. She has always wanted siblings, but things just didn’t work out that way. Perhaps one day I’ll date a guy with kids though. Who knows? She’s also really great with babies and very young kids. If she decides to have children one day, I know she will be an amazing mother.
She has called Brian only twice so far, and I’m not sure if that is a good or bad thing. I guess it’s a sign that she will be fine with the transition and won’t miss either of us too terribly. She is a much more adaptable child now than she used to be. Despite struggling momentarily with the rough and confusing initial news of our divorce, she has been so strong these past couple months. Her teachers have had nothing but good things to say about her.
Last week, in the car on the way home from school, Addy told me she had her first crush. After trying to guess which boy it could be on, I stopped for a second and decided to back up. I slowly turned and asked her if it was a boy OR a girl. She got all red and embarrassed and quietly whispered into her hands, now cupping her face, “A girl.” She looked at me with nervous eyes flitting all over the place, and asked if that was okay. I told her of course it was and that she need not be embarrassed. We raised her to know there are different sexualities and gender identities in the world and that we would always love her no matter which group she decided she belonged to. I don’t know if that was a good reaction, but I hoped so.
A week later, she told me she was Gay. I can’t say I was all that surprised, but I suppose I had been hoping my instincts were wrong. I don’t have anything against being Gay, but I know it can be a harder, more painful life because intolerant ignorant people will judge her and look down on her for who she is, and because it makes starting a family more of a challenge. I have quite a few Gay and bi-sexual friends and as much as I’d like to believe the world is changing, my hopes always get dashed when I see another story on the news about a homosexual, bi-sexual, transgender, etc. person who was beaten or killed because someone evil could not simply let them live. They could not let them exist and share the same air on this planet. I would have fire for eyes if someone ever hurt my child, especially if it were over her sexuality and who she chooses to love.
But to be completely honest, I have suspected for some time now that Addy was not going to be straight. It doesn’t change a thing in terms of my love for her and I know her father feels the same way. It’s other people in our lives that worry me. I mentioned it to my mother the other day so that she would be prepared, if and when my daughter ever decided to come out to her. I told her, not to violate my daughter’s privacy, but to make sure she did not receive the same reaction to the news that I did from her. She told me not to worry. I wasn’t worried. Then she told me that Addy is only 11 and doesn’t really know who she is yet. She said all kids are curious about other sexualities and it will “pass.” I am glad I told her because if she had said those things to Addy, we would have had a huge problem. My mother is an ostrich. When things get scary or uncomfortable for her, she puts her head in the sand and pretends that she cannot hear or see anything so she doesn’t have to accept it. I was raised by someone whose main coping skill is avoidance. This has of course had a strong impact on me, but I work aggressively every day to undo those effects and not pass that characteristic onto Addy.
I don’t think my mother will ever change. Therefore, I must be the one to circumvent her effect on my daughter. I must never let Addy feel she cannot deal with a tough situation and think that the only way to get through it is to pretend it’s not happening. Addy is strong and self sufficient. She will be an independent, unstoppable woman. She is so capable and so ready to face this life, no matter how ugly it gets. My pride swells like a huge ocean wave. She is the future and she is not afraid.
Two:
Today is a dark day. One in which I cannot feel joy or happiness. I know only anxiety, sadness, and dread. Even if I don’t know what I’m dreading, the feelings are thick and tangible. They surround me like thorny brush and dig into my legs when I try to run so I have to sit with them. There is no other choice. This darkness is neither my friend nor my enemy. It is, however, my burden to bear in this life. I did not choose it. It did not choose me. But somehow we got paired with each other, the last kids picked for the team. We don’t cuddle. We don’t have parties. We just sit. We sit and we stare and we wait. We wait as the hours or days pass by until at last, one of us is able to leave.
Three:
Nothing has ever been that hard for me. I am privileged and relatively smart. I am not beautiful, but I am not ugly either, and with the right makeup, I pass for cute. I am not skinny, but I’ve always had nice curves. I am social and extroverted and funny. I have never been poor. Come to think of it, I have not struggled with many external things at all. It is inside me that my hardest battles are staged. But I would be poor to feel like a normal person every day. I would be a different race to feel like I belonged anywhere. I would go hungry or homeless to know my identity and be comfortable with it. I would be stupid to be happy. I would be crippled to feel free. The grass is always greener, I know the saying. But I truly mean it. If I could start my life over with a normal brain that functioned the way it was supposed to, I would give ANYTHING.
Four:
I sit down in the airplane seat and burst into tears. We almost missed our flight home. I am sweating profusely and the back of my shirt is completely drenched. I can feel the fear slowly ebbing from my form, but I am still shaking. This was only the second time in my entire life that I flew without any other adults. The first time was Florida for my cousin’s bachelorette party. It was scary, but I got through it with minimal help from my husband. This time it was me and Addison, which is perhaps worse than being alone because of the added pressure of not making a mistake she would never forgive me for. You know, like missing our flight home after 21 days away in another state.
I tried to do everything right. I checked and double checked our tickets on my phone. I made sure to leave plenty of time after the long drive from Seattle that morning to fix any possible problems. When we arrived at the tiny airport, we had two hours to spare. By the time we got through baggage check, security, and to the gate, we had only half an hour left. The Pasco airport apparently runs quite a bit slower than Cleveland Hopkins International. But I checked the damn tickets and made sure to look for a gate change, as I have seen that happen on previous trips and did not want to be caught off guard. All good, no gate change, and the flight successfully lands in Denver, where we will pick up the connecting flight back home to Ohio.
We get through the Denver airport and to the gate for Cleveland with an hour to spare. Even better than the first flight, I’m thinking. Send some brownie points my way? But no, we still almost missed our plane home. As the crowded flight was boarding, I pulled up the tickets on my phone one last time to be safe and make sure we were at the right gate, gate B11. But of course, the gate had changed. And not only had it changed, it had changed to one clear on the other side of the terminal, B44. My heart dropped, my stomach got hit with an instant wave of nausea, and I begrudgingly told my eleven year-old daughter who was thrilled to finally be going home to see her daddy after so much time away, that the gate had changed and she now needed to grab her belongings and start running. We ran almost the entire way, my heart hammering relentlessly in my chest, before I saw a golf cart passing and waved the driver down. Completely out of breath and barely able to speak, I pleaded with him to take us the rest of the way. He had other people he was going to get, but determined he had enough time to take us to our new gate beforehand, as their flight was a later one than ours and we were clearly in distress. We gratefully hopped on his cart and threw our carry-ons in beside us as he pressed the gas and sped towards gate B44.
Upon arrival at the new gate, I am suddenly suspicious because the sign above it says Omaha, Nebraska. We jump off the cart and hastily thank the driver, though I felt disappointed because I didn’t think I had time to tip him for his services. I run up to the new gate where people are boarding, Addy following closely behind, and ask the attendant checking tickets if the sign is just wrong and this is actually the flight to Cleveland since my boarding pass had changed. She snaps back that she is boarding passengers onto the plane and cannot answer me until she has finished. Cool.
I open the United ap up to check the boarding passes again, and PLOT TWIST, the gate has now changed back to B11. The first thought that goes through my head is that my daughter will never ever trust me again or think I am capable of being her parent and taking good care of her. I am crushed by this as I have deduced by now there is no way in Hell we are going to make it back to that gate in time, and she will not see her father tonight. I want to give up. Addy starts crying and tries to call Brian, as if he can help all the way from Ohio.
I lean over to look in her eyes as she’s shouting at me between sobs that we are not going to make it now. She is a smart kid and lies don’t work with her, so I employ a different approach. I say, “But we have to try! Addy, we HAVE to at least try!” She seems to understand though I’m sure still does not believe we will get there in time. By now, we have attracted quite a bit of attention and the driver who had just dropped us off has not yet left for his next scheduled pick up. I spot him and look into his eyes with nothing but dead fear. He has clearly overheard our predicament and waves us over. I will never in a million trillion years be able to thank that beautiful soul as much as I wish I could for his help that day.
We hurl our bodies and luggage, one big blur at this point, into his cart once again before he drives us away from the gate. I remember in this moment that I have not had a chance to tip him so I pull out the biggest bill I have at the time, which is a twenty, and hand it to my daughter who is riding in the middle row of the cart. I ask her to give it to our driver. As she does this, I figure at the very least, even if we miss this plane, a kind and patient person has been rewarded in some small way for their efforts, and perhaps that is enough.
The driver radios the gate we are heading to, and says he has two more passengers on the way there. I am so filled with gratitude for this additional effort on his part and I become hopeful once again that we will see Ohio before the end of this brutal traveling day. As we get close to the gate, our driver waves his arms to the gate attendant to signal that he has brought more passengers and to not close the door yet. I start waving my stupid arms as well, thinking that will somehow add more emphasis to his motions. The woman sees us and the door is still open. Though I am almost positive we are going to make it now, I know it’s still too soon to celebrate.
We both hobble off the cart, dragging our luggage that has now become ten times heavier. We are truly exhausted from all the running and chaos. We walk over to the gate attendant who is on the phone with the pilot. She is explaining to him that there are still 6 other passengers coming from a delayed connecting flight, and she is requesting they hold the plane for 10 more minutes to give those poor souls some chance to make it. More good news for us. But still, I don’t feel totally out of the woods because we are not actually ON the plane yet. She hangs up the phone and turns to look at us. I ask if we can still board the plane and take out my phone to show our boarding passes. She scans them and we trudge onto the ramp. I still worry that despite the communication between the pilot and the gate attendant, they may close the plane door in our faces so I hold my breath as we go down that passage.
I am so disgusting and sweaty. I am gross and feel dirty. I am traumatized and completely spent. My lungs are just now starting to fully inflate again. We make it to our assigned seats and plop down, two heaps of bundled nerves. And then I cry. I cover my face with my hands and sob like an absolute infant. Tears gush out, further wetting my sweaty face, and darkening the front of my shirt. My daughter is telling me it’s okay because we made it. She is putting her little hand on my back and attempting to calm me. I silently say I know, I know honey, and I appreciate it, but Momma has to get this out. Let Momma get this out.
Passengers behind and all around us piece together what just happened and offer water and consolation. I say thank you, and let them know I’m okay. But even though I am a complete wreck right now, I know I don’t want to lose this teaching moment with Addy because it is a living, breathing example of one of the most important things she will ever learn in life, and I wish someone had taught me. I stop sobbing after a few minutes and wipe my wet, snotty face with the back of my hand and dry it on my shirt. I do not care how nasty it looks. She is settling into her seat and buckling her belt for takeoff. I look at her and tell her to never ever forget this day. She looks up at me quizzically so I explain.
“This was a day where we didn’t think we were going to make it. This was a day where we both felt defeated and wanted to give up. But what did we do instead?” She doesn’t answer so I continue. “WE TRIED. Addy, we faced almost certain failure, but we tried anyway. When life is really hard and you feel like your chances of success are near zero, remember this day. Remember to never give up, because trying, EVEN if you fail, is so much better than giving up. If you don’t try, you’ll never know if your efforts would have paid off in the end.” She looks at me and smiles like she’s staring at crazy person. But that’s okay, because that still means she has acknowledged my words. She has heard me. And I hope so very hard that she does remember this experience when it matters. And that when someone tells her she can’t do something hard or isn’t capable, she flips them the bird and does it anyway.
Edit: to my family who may read this, please understand that much of what I am saying is exaggerated for dramatic effect. Please do not let it upset you. I am trying to tell a story that is in large part fiction, but contains snippets of my actual life and there will be many parts that seem offensive but understand they are not meant to be. I love you all and mean no harm.
Unopened Presents 