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.
Robin Wonders
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?
