Twenty four years ago, she entered the world on her own terms on her own chosen day. She was not suppose to be born until December, but she did not wait. Three hours after a rear end accident, my water broke and there was no stopping her birth. Labor started after a couple of hours and went into the night. Finally after midnight, it was time and she was determined to make her entry known. In the delivery room, the Dr. told me to relax and not push, so I laid back on the bed and did my Lamaze breathing to get through the contraction. The contraction ended and the Dr. who had turned around to grab an instrument said “Whoa!” bent down below just the edge of the bed and caught my daughter who had pushed herself out.
Over the years she has heard this story and we have laughed about her self determination. She also ended up being a 7 lb. 8 oz preemie–yeah I know it sounds odd, but she really was only 36 in gestation and if she had gone to full term, she would have been over 9 lbs, ouch!
Today I not only reflect on this birth, but on all the years of her life. Of the little girl who use to chuckle and smile most of the time. Of the little one who could sleep while her sisters vacuumed the room around her. Of the little one who would paint, draw pictures, and create stories. Of the little girl who danced, sang and made friends with everyone.
Then it changes. I reflect back and I see the little one who started getting sick all the time–mysterious pains in the side, hysterical blindness, the need to urinate frequently. The endless Dr. trips who never found anything and said she was just a hysterical, highly strung child. Only one Dr. suggested sexual abuse, but she denied it and no matter how hard I tried to open her up, she would not give in. The same determination that pushed her into life on that delivery table all those years ago, now served to keep her quite in order to protect her mom and her sisters. The laughter, the joy, the dancing, the friendliness turned into rebellion and withdrawal. Her drawing and art remained and served as tool to her survival.
Now all these years later, she is stronger and the healing begins, but the scares forever remain. She mourns the death of her childhood and I mourn the death of the child who died all those years ago too. She fears losing her sisters and one does not believe her dad could or would do this and tells her this and more.
Happy birthday my dearest daughter. When I look at you, I still see that little girl who loves life and cares about others. I still see the baby born early in the morning so many years ago who had determination… one that would carry her through the darkest of times… one that would help her survive the worst infliction that anyone can bear… I am so sorry it happened and you kept it a secret to protect me and your sisters.
You are a blessing in my life and your step dad and I love you very much. You can always count on our love, support and belief–it is unconditional. I love you sweetie!
