So this weekend marked the asking of the question I've been dreading since the day I gave birth. Dano and I had talked, argued, and cried (well, I did anyway) over the right way to answer it. I mostly lived in denial it would even occur before Lilah was at least 5 or 6. True to form, she did it at her own pace.
Lilah's been fascinated with her origin lately. Asking hundreds of questions and cross-examining every answer. She was being funny while grocery shopping the other day and I said, "Where did you come from?"
"Oh, my daddy made me. He did something with his wife and made me." I let it go at that. If she wasn't asking for details, I wasn't offering. She knows it takes a mommy and a daddy to make a new baby, and that they come home from the hospital with it.
One evening this weekend while Dano was at work, she was grilling me on past generations. She had asked my father-in-law the previous weekend about who his parents were and where they were now (both dead). She grasps only that when something or someone dies, it goes away and never comes back. She asked me about my mother-in-law's parents while we were having dinner on the porch.
"Who is my Grannie's daddy?"
"His name was Leo. He was a chef. He died before you were born, when Daddy was just a little boy."
"And Grannie's mother?"
"It's Grandma Shirley. Auntie Kate's mother."
"Married to Grandpa Rodger. Grandpa Rodger's wife." I nodded. She fretted. "But is Grandpa Rodger Grannie's daddy now?" I groaned inwardly.
"He is her step-daddy." She was confused. "He acts like her daddy and loves her like a daddy, but he wasn't the one who made her. You only get one mother and one daddy." She nodded slowly.
"So Grandpa Rodger is her pretend daddy."
"Well, he loves her. Love isn't pretend."
"But she's not his real daughter."
"No, love, she isn't." Silence. Tiny wheels turning in her mind and more questions written on her face.
"Her real daddy died. That's why he's gone." I nodded. "Did your mommy die?" I felt color drain out of my cheeks and I dropped my eyes. I couldn't meet her clear, innocent blue ones. She'd just touched a raw nerve.
"Look, Lilah." I pointed out some bird in the yard (we had been bird-watching before the conversation had turned existential). I pitied Queen Esther at the feet of Xerxes, courage failing her, inviting him to a banquet rather than begging for her life and the life of her people. I blinked and my mind traveled back to Christmas. Tia had emailed asking permission to purchase Christmas gifts for Lilah, telling me we could just give them to her without telling her where they came from. I had taken a long time to contemplate my response, and had chosen to reply to the email candidly.
"It isn't appropriate to leapfrog over broken relationships in order to attempt a good one." It was difficult for me to be open and vulnerable when speaking to someone who specialized in hiding her own emotions, never showing weakness and coveting control. Shame was a tool used to achieve that control. By openly and proudly displaying how I felt, it was control I took back. "I was terrified when I found out I was having a daughter. I was terrified I wouldn't be able to love her, be there for her, or be the mother she needed me to be...It makes me sad for you that you might be feeling the weight of what you're missing. Even if you gave her things anonymously, I'd have to lie to her about where they came from and I won't do that. She's too clever and I have a responsibility to always tell her the truth, even hard ones. I know I'll yell at her, say things I don't mean, make big mistakes, and mess up. But I know that at the root of our relationship is healthy, unconditional love. I want better for her than I had. I want her to be better, prettier, more successful, more confident than me. I want you to be happy too....I'm not angry or bitter. I want you to be as healthy and happy as I am and I hope you can be."
"Did she die?" I swallowed hard.
"No. No, she didn't die."
"Then where is she?" Tell the truth. You have to tell the truth.
"She...when I was younger...she decided she didn't want to be my mother anymore." She sidled up to me and put her hand on my knee. "Some parents have children they don't know how to take care of. They don't know how to love them. Sometimes, parents leave and decide not to be parents anymore."
"She left you? She stopped being your mother?"
"Yes, she did stop. She stopped a long time ago, little one."
"And you left?" I nodded. "Where did you go?"
"Out into the world. I went looking for people who did want me, and did love me. And I found a new family who will never stop loving me."
"Me and Daddy?" She went from sober to cheerful. I tapped her nose.
"Yes, my love. You and Daddy. And Grannie and Grandpa, Auntie Kim and Uncle Adam, your cousins, Uncle Max, Uncle Nick, our friends. They won't leave. They'll never stop being family."
"Did you find another mother?" I smiled sadly at her.
"No, sweetheart. You only get one mother in this life. And only one daddy. The important part, love, is that I will never leave. I will never stop loving you. I will never stop being your mother. I'll never leave you alone." She kissed me and moved on to questions about how boys pee if they don't have vaginas.
I thought it was done. But every day since then, Lilah has gotten up 5-10 minutes before my alarm. I wake up to the familiar thud-swish-thud of her coming down the stairs, dragging her blanket behind her. She crawls over her dad and into my arms. She covers her body and part of mine with her blanket and snuggles close. When she's right up next to my ear, she whispers some version of the same thing, every morning.
"You'll never stop loving me. You'll never leave me alone." When I get home from work. Same thing. "Your mother didn't want to be your mama anymore. But you'll never leave me alone." This morning I was getting dressed and trying to get out the door. "Wait, wait! I need to tell you something!" I tried not to feel impatient but she's an expert at stalling me.
"Okay sweetheart. One more thing."
"I have to tell you a story."
"Only if it's a fast one."
"Okay, okay. Once, there was a little bird. The little bird's mother bird didn't know how to be a good mama. So the little bird left and went out to find another mother. And the little bird was happy, but the mother bird was sad. Because the little bird was gone. The end." I just stared at her. "The end."
The preoccupation seems cruel and unhealthy to me. I've second-guessed myself every day since I told her. I introduced into her universe a concept that, if it were up to me, I'd have hidden from her forever - sometimes people we love leave. Sometimes the people you want to love you more than anyone else aren't capable of giving you the love you need. Dano says that if nothing else, my relationship with Lilah will be stronger because she'll see that I chose to stay and I chose to love her, no matter what. She'll know that I told her the truth, even hard ones. Sometimes little birds do have to go out into the world to find someone to love them. Just not my little bird. She'll always find love at home. She might not always want it. She might not even always need it. But it will be here, nonetheless. Always.
