BG

I’ve been thinking about her lately. She is always on my mind (whether in the forefront or background) but lately it’s been more than normal. It’s almost as if in preparing for him to go, I’m realizing the ways I could have done things better with her.

There’s this image of her that consistently stays in a place where it’s easily recalled. She is just under 2 years old and her dad and I are living in a tiny apartment in Reidland, KY. It’s Easter morning and we wake her up to see what the Easter Bunny has brought her. As she waddles into the living room, my heart softens (just as it does the exact way today when I replay this mini movie in my mind). She only has a diaper on and her chubby little hands are rubbing her sleepy eyes as she makes her way to me. She has curly hair that springs to her scalp when dry but stretches the length of her back when wet. This particular morning, her curls are a wild mess that I know is going to take some work to tame. As she clears the sleep from her eyes, she sees it. A toddler lawn chair printed with Teletubbies, her favorite snacks and goodies, and the piece de resistance, her favorite teletubby, LaLa. She screams the name in between giggles, pronouncing her L’s with the slightest Y sound and her dad and I find ourselves in Heaven. Her squeals are contagious and in that moment, we can’t imagine life getting any better.

It was about 3 years later that life made its next impact on us. Her dad and I were divorced (we had been for quite some time) so it was just me, my BG and my Biggie. I received orders to go to Iraq and suddenly, we had our first real trauma.

The last night I would see them for over a year was the hardest night of my life. This tiny, not quite 5 year old girl, fought with the determination and strength of a grown man. My mom and my then step dad went with me to drop the kids off and then take me back to Ft. Campbell. Biggie was only 2, old enough to understand something was wrong and that mommy was leaving but he wasn’t old enough to comprehend for how long. He cried and told me he didn’t want me to go but eventually, tuckered out from the fight, he calmed himself and his tears subsided for the time being. BG on the other hand, had always been a little ahead of the curve. She knew. She knew I was leaving and had listened to enough talk that she knew where I was going. The grip strength in those 10 little fingers that night was unlike like anything else I had ever seen. She screamed. She kicked. She begged. She clawed my skin with a desperation I’m honestly surprised didn’t rip my heart entirely out of my chest. It took 3 grown men to pull her off of me that night. And it’s taken me 16 years to realize I’m still not recovered from it.

Flash forward and she is 15. She’s just come to me and told me she wants to be a foreign exchange student. Being the mom I am…or at least the mom I’ve always tried to be, I put her wish into action. We begged, pleaded, fought and borrowed and within just a few months, it was set. Her flight was scheduled. Her Visa was obtained. Our preparation to send her into the world had begun. I often wonder, if I had known then some of the things I know now, would I have still done things the same way. Honestly? I dont know. There were boomerangs of wins and losses during the year she was gone. I thought of her, in complete awe of the tenacity and fortitude she had. Her confidence in herself, to jump feet first in the deep water of the world was amazing. She never hesitated and never showed fear, a trait she has carried her entire life. She eagerly threw herself into a country and a culture a half a world away and never looked back. The trip changed us though. Not just her, but me too. While my heart ached to have told her goodbye at such a young age, life did go on. She became independant and learned how to survive on her own with no supervision (I still find it questionable how well she did with that part of it, lol). And then, when she returned home, it was her…but it wasn’t her. I’m sure she saw me the same though. Somewhere, over that year, the BG that had always been my little girl became this young woman that no longer wanted (or needed, it seemed) the comfort and safety of momma’s arms. And the momma who had always been so constant, involved and supportive suddenly seemed domineering, intrusive and clingy.

She stayed in our home for about a year when she came back to the states. Her return was glorious and heartbreaking. At first, I was so thankful to have her home that I didn’t take the time to notice the subtle changes in her demeanor. Gone was the teenage girl who knew she still had to live by mom’s rules and still held firm to childhood beliefs. Here, instead, was a young person who had, quite literally, travelled around the world and had her eyes opened to things not known in our small little universe. That 1 detail in itself was, I think, what started her permanent move from under my roof.

I have to admit, I most likely did not handle her departure well. I’m certain that throwing my hands up in the air alienated her in a way I never thought would happen with my children and in some respects, a stranger had taken my daughter’s place and in return, her mother’s too. That never stopped me from trying to see her though. I strived to not see who I wanted her to be but to instead see who she was and was trying to become. The process in no way diminished my love for her nor my support of her…though I’m positive there were many days she didn’t know that because I failed so miserably in telling her.

She now lives on her own, about 4 hours away from us and will soon be celebrating her 21st birthday. Her 21st. I repeat that in my mind over and over especially after seeing it in black and white here. Her need for help (or at least her willingness to ask for it) has receded like the calm waters of a raging flood. Dry ground can begin to be seen around her and it appears as though the soil under her feet has become firm and strong. She still falters, I know. Such is life though, isn’t it? We fall, we get back up. Process repeat. (Funnily enough this is how I often describe adulthood.) I dont know though, if I ever tell her enough how proud I am of her. I’m unsure of whether or not she knows how my eyes and my heart see her. Strong. Tenacious. Compassionate. Determined. Smart. Confident. Beautiful. Stunning even more on the inside than she is on the outside. These words, these descriptions are just the first few that run through my mind when thoughts of her draw near. I think it’s quite impossible though to sum up the words in a momma’s heart when she looks at her babies. Because that’s what they are and always will be….her babies.

She may not always be able to see these things in herself and sometimes the failures will absolutely scream louder in her mind than the victories. I see them though. And even if I failed her in reminding her of them in the past, I’ve determined she will know them now. She will know I celebrate in her victories and I am here to lift her in her defeats. She will know that I dont have to agree with her life choices to love her and support her. She will know that there will never be a word, an action or an impulsive moment that could break the will of this momma’s love for her. I am in awe of her and I admire her for her fighting spirit, her refusal to give in and her kind heart even in the darkest times.

She is quite sensational, this BG of mine. I hope one day, she sees herself through my eyes….until then, this free spirited, strong willed child of mine will always have me to remind her.

A little here.

A little there.

And a lot in between.

The first picture was in her Lala phase. The second was earlier this year at a football game. And that space in between? That’s life, lessons learned and love rediscovered.