October 11, 2011
I used to think, during these times, that she was mourning the loss of her life at the orphanage, and maybe she was. Now, however, I can tell that she isn't. These tears seem to be coming from deeper within, and from farther back; from the street corner where she was left, perhaps, when she was only a week old.
I will never be able to fully understand my daughter. I know this. No matter the weariness and woes of my days on this earth, I will never know what her tender heart has known.
My mother and I, after all, have the same hands.
And yet, she and I share the very thing my mom and I share. It is hard to describe, is it not, you mothers of daughters? It is what Jubilee mourns the loss of when she weeps, what I miss on my birthday, what makes my mother take her mother upstate to the cancer center every few months for a checkup, and what bowls my friend Liz right over when she looks at Cadence.
It is what Jubilee and I have been given.
Having the same hands, it turns out, has nothing to do with it.
at 8:48 AM