It has now been a year since Tron was born, delivered into our arms, then delivered back to his family. The anniversary of his birth passed me last week almost unnoticed, until I was paying the bills and had to write the date. His birthday. I walked downstairs after finishing and mentioned it to D as I brushed my teeth. Today is Tron's birthday. Did you remember? He did, but like me almost forgot.
We both almost forgot.
Time heals, it is true, but parenting heals more. There was little time for reflection that day, what with Shug and Moonpie and overdue library books to attend to. Blissfully little free time to feel sad. My great-great-grandmother lost three of her seven children in infancy. Did she mark their anniversaries, I wonder? Or, like me, did she push her quiet sadness deep down and focus on churning the butter and weeding the garden?
I care for Tron still, but I don't miss him, and I don't worry about him. I doubt George and Gracie are still together, but from what they shared of their family situation I suspect Tron is living with his grandmother. So I know he is ok, and that is enough for me.
The assurance that Shug is well is what I try to give Jack and Diane every single opportunity I have. They gave me their child to raise, the least I can do is give them access to her. My family thinks I compensate too much, and I probably do. We talk about them openly, breezily, mention them in passing the way you would any old friend. Oh yeah, Diane said the exact same thing! Ha ha ha! Oh, that sounds so much like something Jack would say!
It drives my parents crazy. My father stands up and leaves the room whenever we mention Jack and Diane, whenever I stoop to take a video clip of Shug to send to them, whenever I answer one of their text messages. It eats at him, the idea that there are other grandparents out there who have an emotional claim on his Sugarplum.
Trust me, she has him right where she wants him.
D's family, on the other hand, has been surprisingly supportive of the openness. His mother tears up when I talk about Diane, grieving for her by proxy. Asks intelligent, substantive questions about them and our relationship, fully accepts them as just another extension of our family.
It has been a learning experience.
I am more comfortable in my role as an adoptive mother now that I can share the experience with Diane. I wish so much that Moonpie's family would let me include them in her life, let me share her with them. I want them to ooo and ahhh over her amazing drawings of Superman (dressed as Watermelon man) and Spiderman, snicker at her silly faces, scratch their heads in confusion at the nonsensical stories she creates.
Instead, they are floating in grief limbo, just like I am with Tron. I only have tiny pieces of them to share with Moonpie, significant pieces, but small. A single snapshot, the curve of Moonpie's chin on someone else's face, the same stony walled reserve I see in miniature whenever she faces a deep disappointment. And the hurt in her mother's eyes, hurt she will not let me in to fix.
I'm left trying to heal too many people without any guidance, without any plan of attack. I wonder if I'm smothering Shug with people who love her to make up for the stony silence in Moonpie's life. As if I can somehow integrate Jack and Diane into both their lives to make up for the lack of participation by Moonpie's family.
Maybe my parents are right, maybe this isn't healthy. I do know that it helps Diane, and it helps me, and for now it is working. What tomorrow brings, well, tomorrow will bring. Today, this is good. For today, this is enough.
It has to be enough.
