growing up
“You don’t know me at all. You don’t know anything about me,” she mumbled at me through tears. A whirling kaleidoscope of images came fast, almost choking me:
That time she fell and the way that she looked around, finding me, and how she ran so fast, chubby little legs pumping, into my arms. And sobbed her heart out. How I held her tight and whispered things to make her rigid body soften.
When she read a book upside down so she wouldn’t be left out while all of the adults were reading.
In the hot rod I drove during college, taking her for afternoon rides while she grinned up at the bright sun, blazing through the sunroof.
Going to softball games. Watching gymnastics.
I remember so much.
But I guess I don’t know her now.
Years of being institutionalized can harden even the sweetest of children. Vulnerability masked by a thick-skinned veneer. It can make me cry for hours after a visit. Thinking of that little girl that I still see, that I will always see, in the young woman’s face. I used to wonder, what we could have all done differently to save her. Replayed mistake moments over and over again in my head.
I don’t go back in my mind anymore. It doesn’t help anything. And it hurts.
We talked for hours through our tears, and I don’t think we found any resolution. It’s too much to hope for and it’s too much to ask. I just hope we found some middle ground.
"I don’t have to know everything about you," I told her yesterday. "I just want to know you."
When I left, she hugged me and at the last moment grabbed on and really held.
That’s enough. Enough, for now.
That time she fell and the way that she looked around, finding me, and how she ran so fast, chubby little legs pumping, into my arms. And sobbed her heart out. How I held her tight and whispered things to make her rigid body soften.
When she read a book upside down so she wouldn’t be left out while all of the adults were reading.
In the hot rod I drove during college, taking her for afternoon rides while she grinned up at the bright sun, blazing through the sunroof.
Going to softball games. Watching gymnastics.
I remember so much.
But I guess I don’t know her now.
Years of being institutionalized can harden even the sweetest of children. Vulnerability masked by a thick-skinned veneer. It can make me cry for hours after a visit. Thinking of that little girl that I still see, that I will always see, in the young woman’s face. I used to wonder, what we could have all done differently to save her. Replayed mistake moments over and over again in my head.
I don’t go back in my mind anymore. It doesn’t help anything. And it hurts.
We talked for hours through our tears, and I don’t think we found any resolution. It’s too much to hope for and it’s too much to ask. I just hope we found some middle ground.
"I don’t have to know everything about you," I told her yesterday. "I just want to know you."
When I left, she hugged me and at the last moment grabbed on and really held.
That’s enough. Enough, for now.
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