Write On!

              " I thought so," he declared. I nearly dropped the dish. " Didn't I tell you
this summer I thought she was pregnant?"
Flashback! Summer, working on her cabin. I had forgotten! She was
sunning on the roof, and I was annoyed that she wasn't pulling her fair share of
the work, on her cabin.
" You did," I remembered, " and I asked her if she was pregnant and
she said no and I believed her and it obviously never entered my head again.
Why didn't you say something?"
The dishes were no longer important and I turned to face my husband.
" Well," he replied, " if she wasn't, she wasn't, but if she was, I knew
sooner or later we'd hear about it. No sense fussing about it."
Where had I been all this time? How could I put such a thing out of my
mind? It's true she was working away from home, and had even changed
towns, but she made it sound so... natural. Just my rebellious daughter doing
her own thing; sky diving; motorcycle racing; skidoo trips; speed; excitement;
danger. She thrived on it. And now, pregnant.
She telephoned to say I was probably too tired to talk that night, but
that she would be over for tea next day. I think she thought I needed time to
ingest the information and formulate a plan of action. I did need the night to
recoup, rethink, and prepare. The next morning, she arrived for tea and we all
sat to talk.
" I know I've been rebellious," she began, " but I would like a second
chance, to come home, and to submit to your authority."
I was only half listening, as my head was full of unanswered questions
clamoring for understanding. I blurted out, " Why didn't you tell us?'
Her reply cut to the quick, and immobilized all further inquiries.
" Because I knew," she said, with love and appreciation, " I knew that if I
decided to keep this baby, you would support me in every way; but if I decided
to give it up for adoption, I did not want anyone else to have to carry that
burden."
My heart crumbled within me, and my tears overflowed, but what a
comfort to know that this daughter of mine, this fun loving, loud, raucous, rebel
knew she was cared for. Isn't that what mothering, what parenting is all about?
Being there for each other, and here we were, getting a second chance
together.
She moved back into her old room that night. Things didn't always go
smoothly. She had been on her own for several years, not responsible to
anyone but herself, and her anger, that volcanic eruption which I never saw
coming, and had no skill to extinguish, still ambushed us. Thank God she was
able to return and apologize and say, " we need to talk," because we did, and
she did, and that original bond, that mother child relationship we began with,
grew again, stronger, because it was between equals. She worked hard on
herself, and gently with me. Her father smiled, a lot. When the baby was born
we had the joy of nourishing and nurturing another child, and what a child he