“You guys are keeping us, aren’t you?” My eldest daughter, Laura, asked me. We were alone in the kitchen. My youngest daughter and husband were out of town visiting relatives. I fried chicken at the stove while Laura rinsed salad in the sink.
My response came instantly and so effortlessly. “Forever,” I told her and I felt the tears trickling down my cheeks as I placed the lid back on the pan and turned around to face her. “You’re never leaving.” I walked over to her. “Even when you get married, you and your husband and twelve kids have to move in here with us.”
Laura laughed and glanced over her shoulder. “Twelve kids. I don’t think so.”
“Well your dad and I are going to need some help in our old age.”
“I’ll take care of you guys,” she responded in a choked up voice.
Her eyes glistened, and I changed the subject. “Salad’s done?”
She stared at me for a moment. “All done.”
“You can place it in the fridge then. Thanks.”
“No prob. Anything else?”
I turned the temperature down on the stove. “That’s it. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.” I wanted a few minutes to be alone with my own thoughts and to try and figure out hers.
Laura smiled quietly at me and then headed towards the hallway.
I lifted the lid on the pan and stuck a fork in one of the chicken breasts.
“I love you,” Laura said softly before turning the corner.
“I love you too.”
My tears no longer trickled; they poured out with a force that easily rivaled a hurricane.
It had been a year since my husband and I adopted Laura and her younger sister, Danielle. This was the first time she had ever said those three most precious words to either my husband or me. Years later, even with Laura actually out of the house and in college, that day remains on my “Best Days of My Life” list.
Recently I shared this story with a friend who was constantly complaining about her husband rarely telling her that he loved her. In some ways, my sharing was relevant, and in others, perhaps it wasn’t, but like all good advice givers, I wanted to think I was being helpful.
You see Laura and Danielle had been adopted previously before completing my family. Unfortunately, the person who adopted them decided that being a mother wasn’t the right decision for her and returned the children to foster care. I’m sure you’re on a _itch tantrum by now, but trust me, I’ve been there, done that. What the heck was this chick thinking? Nevertheless, her loss was truly the best gift my husband and I have ever been given.
Forgive my digression. You see when Laura and Danielle became a part of our family it was a very scary thing for them. Danielle was only five, but Laura was fourteen. In addition to the normal hostility and mistrust issues which came along with being a teen, Laura also had other issues which arose from the adoption. Our home was in a different city; she was losing all her friends. To make it worse, two sets of parents had already let her down. There was no way she was going to let a third set play her for a sucker.
So when after a year of basically no emotional exchanges and few conversations which were monotonous in volume, you can imagine how I felt when Laura told me she loved me. I was ecstatic. This was a child whom I loved at first sight. Her sad eyes called out to me at first glance. I loved the way she completely changed her hairstyle each day as she searched for her own identity. I laughed when she mocked me for watching NCIS and then somehow found a way to be in my bedroom each Tuesday night when the show began. I even loved the way she pouted when I wouldn’t give her everything she wanted. I loved her as much as I loved her sister, but because she fought so hard, perhaps I found myself loving her more.
