I Am Afraid of Car Washes — And Losing My Daughter
I am afraid of car washes. So, what is that? It’s certainly ridiculous coming from a woman of 30 years, but a car wash perfectly encompasses all of my fears. I am out of control. I am moving too fast. And, people are darting in and out of my view, which is quickly becoming clouded.
Every Saturday, I meet my foster daughter’s family in the parking lot of a local fast food restaurant for their weekly visit. I retrieve her bright, smiling toddler face from the same car seat that carried her home from the hospital a year and a half ago — and I hand her to the woman who created her.
I am not sure that I’ve always wanted to create a child. But, I do know that I’ve always wanted to be a mother. I’ve always been a natural counselor and a natural teacher. But, really, I’ve always dreamed of having the kind of bond with a child that I didn’t have with any of my own family members. I pictured tea parties at the American Girl Place and taking them to their first day of school. I pictured in-depth conversations and lunches when they’re 25. I wanted to give a child the kind of understanding, support, and unconditional love that I always wanted.
I volunteered us for this pain.
On the day that my foster daughter was — unbeknownst to us — born, I wrote two poems about having children. We got the call to pick her up from the hospital two weeks later. I am someone who vacillates wildly between being spiritual and being a total skeptic, so I struggle with things like this. I find myself, against my better judgment, looking for a meaning that I cannot understand.
When I looked back at the Notes app on my phone, I saw that I also wrote a poem about having children one year to the day before she was born. So, what is that?
We have a great relationship with her family. In fact, they seem like people with whom I would be friends. I have sympathy for them; I have empathy for them. I understand that the world is hard and we all take the paths that make the most sense at the time, even if they hurt others. We can’t turn back time; we can only move forward. It’s amazing how such dueling emotions can co-exist in my mind. The desire to keep the child who has become my daughter and the understanding that she was never mine.
But, then — do any of us really belong to anyone?
I don’t know how long I’ll be a mother. I don’t know how long I’ll be much of anything. I know who I wanted to be, all those years ago when I was a child. I had drastically different dreams. A movie star. A novelist. A rock star. But, most of all, I know that my childhood self wanted to be a good person. A strong person. A brave person. An overcoming kind of person. Someone a little less sensitive.
I have always been highly sensitive. From the youngest of ages, my mother used to tell me to “get my feelings off my sleeve.” I remember a teacher telling her during a parent-teacher conference that I was too sensitive. I have always been overwhelmed with anxieties about life and death, about the future and the past. I can never just exist in the present moment…I am an ordinary, fearful person. I suppose my childhood self would be disappointed.
But this past Saturday, I dropped off my little girl — and, in my heart, she will always be my little girl — for her visit. I drove to the car wash afterwards. I paid the fee and I entered into that tunnel where everything is wild and out of control, matching my thoughts and definitely matching my life. For the first time in a long time, I felt still and filled with bravery. I wondered, if she does go home, should I take up skydiving?
Later that night, like all nights for the past 18 months, I sang my foster daughter to sleep. A little Florence and the Machine, a little Stevie Nicks. Not your usual lullabies. Pieces of myself will undoubtedly go with her.
She stared into my eyes like I’m the greatest person in the world — like I’m some kind of real mother — and then she happily reached for my hand before falling asleep.
The calendar goes on and on.
So, what is that?
