I rarely talk with my long term kids about their early childhood in front of the other kids. For some reason I’ve always hesitated…I didn’t really know why. But one day I told the story of when Mya was a toddler and she was afraid of the moon outside her bedroom window. We all had a good laugh…and then, when the car fell silent, Robin quietly said, “I wish I knew if I was afraid of the moon.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know anything about me. It would be nice to know things like that…if I was afraid of the moon.” And then it struck me…one of the many things kids in care miss out on…evidence of their childhood. And so I wrote this about how I think she must feel.
My mama says to her daughter, ‘you were afraid of the moon. You used to hide and cuddle if you’d see it from your room.’
I look up at the mama, who doesn’t look like me. My sister who is darker, my daddy just like she
I wonder, in my quiet way…was I afraid of the moon? Did I run to my first mama, when I saw it from my room?
Did I hide beneath my blankets; or boldly push them back? Was I chubby, was I scrawny, did I crawl into a walk?
Did my mommy hold me tight against her chest and fall asleep…Does she miss me? Did she want me? Does she ever…look…back?
Do I have a little brother or a sister just like me? When she holds them does she push me from her painful memory?
Or does she never think about the blond haired girl; as tho…I’m just a cold dark place…she never dares to go.
Did she fly in a tornado, to a far and distant land…where mommies sometimes go if they cannot take a stand?
Did she release me when she left, and gave me to my mom? Did she know I’d be so happy? Did she know she could be wrong?
I love her just for being, and for giving me a life. And I hate her for what she wasn’t…what she isn’t…is that right?
Can I have these fighting feelings, twisted in my heart and still be healing slowly…can I long for her at night?
I have a mom and daddy in this new and faithful home. I’ve brothers and I’ve sisters who love me like their own.
I wonder if it’s right sometimes to feel the way I do. To wish I knew those little things that mommy’s only knew….
Is it okay to wonder…I want to know this too…Was I loved…am I remembered….was I afraid of the moon?