And I don't like it one little itty bitty bit. Today is the anniversary of the day that my life changed forever. Some of you may be familiar with this feeling. For those of you that aren't, please disregard this little swagger down memory lane.
I was 19 years old when I met my destiny. It was temporarily cloaked in the body of a 22 year old sailor, with dark stubble, hazel eyes, and a beer in his hand. Love at first sight it was not. I was in the navy, in school in Florida, and studying late on Friday night so I could be the Honor Graduate from my second training school. He was partying with a group of people on the balcony, outside my room. Instead of introducing himself to me, he dragged me into a physical comedy routine that ended with me soaked in beer. I got cleaned up, he apologized, handed my underage self a beer, and it was pretty much a given where I'd be spending my spare time from them on. Fun? Yeah, he was that. As well as being a worldly sailor, seeming so much more mature than me, he was also a musician, and he had a place off base. To my 19 year old self, these things were perfect. Looking back, I realize that he was not my destiny, but at that time in my life, it sure seemed that way. However, he was only the vehicle, the motorcycle ride to my fate, as it were.
As often happened, I became in a 'delicate condition'. Young and incredibly optimistic, we married. Mistake? In hindsight, yes. By that time, I was already well on my way to becoming a mom. Marriage wouldn't have changed that. Oh, but to be able to whisper those simple words of truth to my younger self. It would have saved me countless sleepless nights, many tears, and even a few broken bones and more than a few bruises. Again, hindsight. I mentioned that my destiny was only temporarily cloaked in his body, right? On this very day, fifteen years ago, my whole world went topsy-turvy, and it hasn't been the same since.
At 10:15 am on July 9, 1992, my oldest child was born, forever changing the course of my life and thrusting me at once from the teenager I'd been a mere two days before (my birthday is on the 8th, you understand) to a person that was now responsible for the very life of a whole other person, albeit a very small person.
I can still recall that day, those hours leading up to that moment that she came rushing out of her safe harbor. I was anxious. Would I be good enough? Strong enough? Already I'd gotten the feeling that I'd be doing most of the parenting on my own. Could I love her more than I loved anything else, including myself? Was there a book I could read that could prepare me for this? Fear gripped me with every contraction. I was in a hospital with people that barely spoke English, on an island in the middle of the Caribbean, with no friends and no family, save for the man that helped me into that condition, and he was only mostly sober. I called my mom countless times from a payphone in the hall, literally doubling over with the pain from my body's readying itself to let her fly solo. Once, I dropped the phone and fell to my knees, tears springing to my eyes, as I heard my momma on the other end of the phone, calmly trying to offer advice to her only daughter, crying right along with me for most of the night. I wanted her to be there so much, I wasn't always sure which hurt more, missing her or the contractions.
Finally, my daughter made her appearance. Time stopped for me. It was like God, who I'd always secretly doubted actually existed, hit 'Pause' for me, allowing me to capture and record everything in my mind's eye, every smell, every sound, every single thing. I can see the stark sterility of the delivery room, the green of the doctor's scrubs and the white of his mask against his brown skin. I can smell the faint hint of alcohol radiating from the pores of my husband, and the tangy smell of my own blood. But mostly, I saw Heaven. When that doc held her up for me to inspect, it was like that very same God that I had doubted shined a celestial light right down upon her head, illuminating her for eternity as the beacon of change in my life, and he allowed the angels to herald her arrival with a soft chorus of Amazing Grace. For someone raised in a Baptist church, with a Southern momma and a family that believed, if sometimes only on Sundays, in the existence of a Supreme Being, that Heavenly light and chorus of angels might as well have been a phone call from the Almighty Himself. Looking at that perfect face, and oh my soul she was so perfect to behold, I knew that God existed. There was just no way in hell I'd created her on my own, and I was pretty sure she hadn't gotten much from the man next to me either. It could only be God. That was my shining moment. I got God, and motherhood, wrapped up in a perfect pink blanket, with shining brown eyes and a serious look on a determined face.
She's changed over the years. I don't even know how to explain all she's been through. She was the sweetest baby, hardly ever crying, with a big full laugh that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her soul. She spoke her first word, momma, when she was about 5 months old, and was talking in short sentences by nine months. At two, she could clearly say "Don't antagonize me!" to her uncle. He didn't listen very well though. She named her brother, because she could pronounce Michael but she couldn't quite get out Gabriel, and she doted on him and claimed him as her own, regardless of the stretch marks he'd given to me. I can remember fighting with her at three, when she unbuckled herself and climbed out of her car seat, and refused to get back into it. I pulled over and put her out on the side of the road, then moved the car about 15 feet. She screamed at me, not in terror but in anger. How dare I make her buckle if she didn't want to! Three was a rough year, for both of us. By four, she'd calmed down enough to enjoy helping me, and was settling into the role of big sister very well, to her three other siblings.
At five, she dropped my hand at the front door on the first day of school, kissed me goodbye, told me not to cry because she'd only be gone a short while, and walked off down the hall without looking back. At six, they all went to stay with my mom while I went on a naval deployment. That was the hardest time of my entire life, as the baby almost lost his life and I actually had to fight the state of Texas to get them all back. Through it all, she reassured and comforted me, always touching my hand or cheek when I needed it most, usually offering a smile or an 'i love you' at just the right time. By her seventh year, we'd found our future as a family, and she settled in quite nicely to being a Daddy's Girl to the man that still adores her more than life itself. But not more than I do. Yes, he chose her, as he chose all of of us, so he gets points for that. And yes, he's never, not for a single second considered himself a 'step-father', and has almost come to blows with people that have called him that. But really, I claim just a drop more, because she was mine first. I nurtured her in my own body. I nursed her, and changed her diapers and bandaged her knees before we knew his face.
Today, I woke at 4am and drove her to camp. She expressed her concern at being gone from all of us, and reminded me that she'd never actually been anywhere, except a sleepover, without at least one of us. Her fear surprised me. If I had to choose one word to describe her, it would be
fearless. That's how she seems to me.
Fearless. If something bothers her, she faces it until it isn't a problem for her.
She is
the most amazing young woman I know, and I know quite a few. Is she the perfect teenager? Hardly. She has her moments of stubborness (no idea where she gets
that!), she occasionally gets mouthy, even shows disrespect once in a while. But overall? Those moments are far outweighed by her moments of brilliance, when she showers her younger sisters with devotion, or her grandmother with affection, her father with laughter or her brothers with loyalty. When she leans her head on my shoulder while we're watching a movie, or kisses me right in front of her friends. When she sends me a text message with something funny that she's seen, just because she knows I'll laugh as well. When she makes and brings me a cup of coffee in the morning because she knows I had a late night at work and need the boost. When she writes a poem for my favorite author, because she knows it will make me smile. Her brilliance shines through in those everyday moments where her maturity and compassion far outweigh her actual years.
I've watched this girl grow up. In many ways, I've grown up right along with her. As the oldest, she's been around to see all of my shortcomings, all of my spectacular bad-mommy moments, though she rarely reminds me of them. She's seen me survive abuse, she's seen me walk away from heartache, she's seen my tears when I had no idea how to get out of bed. She's watched me try for love again, choosing so carefully because I had other people to consider, not just myself. She's watched me build a life with a man, a very very good man, watched how I chose him, how we interact, how he treats me. I talk to her, long and often, about what she deserves, and she believes it because she knows that I won't accept any less anymore. She's seen me at my worst, when my world crashed with the near death of my youngest son, and the actual death of my mother. And still, through all of that, she loves me.
When I dropped her off this morning, she was thinking not only of camp and how much fun she would have this week, but also of me. She knows that this week, I'm taking another step towards my dream of being a published author, heading to a writers conference in Dallas while she is at camp. She hugged me and told me to have fun.
Fun. She understands how nervous I am, but she's so excited that I'm taking this step. She's one of my biggest fans.
I have other children. Five other children. They are all beautiful and brilliant in their own distinct ways. Each of them owns a piece of my soul. I'd walk through the very bowels of hell for any single one of them, slay a dragon or kill a man with my own bare hands to save them. that instinct, that mothering urge, was born on this day though. On that day she was born and changed my life. On the day I realized that
yes, I do have it in me to love someone more than myself, and
yes, it might be hard, but I really could manage, even on my own if I had to.
She may be the daughter, but she's taught me so much. She taught me how to be a mom.
I love you, Gretchen.
Happy Birthday.
