Prologue
Childhood behaves like the morning mist. Children dance and delight, then grow and vanish into the light of their days. So many nights, I wished my girls would mature, would give me grandchildren, would give me a moment to myself. First, of course, go to college.
When the time arrived, and they left me, they took their magic. Without magic, the scent of childhood wafted away in the morning fog. How could I have understood, all those years ago, the bedraggled waifs I fostered would steal my heart? In my reluctance to mother the abandoned children, I never fathomed the temporary fostering would turn into everlasting love when I adopted them.
Once more, I bit back tears as Crystal Joy, my youngest girl, climbed into her car. Last week, we outfitted the Honda with hand controls, so she could drive despite her spina bifida. Parker and I watched as she drove away to the University of Tennessee to join her sister.
I imagined I heard her singing. Never was Crystal without a song even as a child. Back then she hammered on pots and Tupperware to make music. Her alto, always on pitch. Her fingers twitched on guitar strings or dulcimers. In the end, my youngest daughter settled on the violin. Never did the spina bifida slow Crystal down or make her feel inferior. Could a mother call one child perfect?
The dust from the road settled, and I stood next to Parker like the day Lisa Simpson tried to adopt Crystal’s sister.
Roxie.
Always the most sensitive. Perhaps the proverbial middle child. Sweet, insecure Roxie. Too independent and too needy. Her biological parents died of drug overdoses. Roxie had been old enough to understand abandonment, too young to realize her parents’ issues had nothing to do with her worth. Her oldest sister’s grandfather adopted her when she was eight. The hole bored through my heart. It compounded sweet Roxie’s belief in her lack of worth. Roxie believed I loved everyone more than her.
Parker looped his arm around me.
His closeness soothed. Always.
“Meredith, the girls will be home before you realize they moved out. Now’s the time for them to heal, live their passions, and find themselves.” He kissed the top of my head. “They’ll be okay.”
In Parker’s eyes, I hoped to see the truth of his words. This time, I didn’t run away and hide. I let God take my fears and prayed the sins of my daughters’ parents would no longer descend on their innocent offspring. I prayed the love of adoptive parents and a heavenly Father would redeem.