She's Still My Little Girl

What do you do when you are eighteen and pregnant? Well, I did the only thing I could. I birthed the most beautiful experience of my life, my daughter. Then what do you do when you realize that your boyfriend of five years, and father of your child, is just not father/husband material? You become a single mother at the age of nineteen. Then you find that you have no choice but to create the best life you can for yourself and your child. Easier said than done, especially since my goal was to build a better life for her than I had had.

For the first eight years of her life we were basically best friends, buddies, partners. And oh yeah, poor as dirt. She held me when I cried. Kept me company when I was lonely. Took care of me when I was sick. Stayed up late while I studied to become a nurse. We learned to cook together. I learned elementary math. Never once did she complain about being taken to sitters all the time so I could work and go to (nursing) school.

We lived in a basement apartment, together and alone, on a main road, two doors down from a bar. There were not only mice in our place, but on a couple of occasions I saw a rat crawl across the exposed pipes in the ceiling. The bathtub water from the above apartment drained into my
kitchen sink. We had no phone and usually ate at other peoples homes since there was not much money for food. I cried often, more for her than for myself. Thing is, she didn't know how bad it was because she didn't know much better.

We learned, together, to wash clothes in the bathtub with shampoo, manually wring them out, then hang them on the line to dry. It was at times fun, and playful. She would sit on my shoulders to hang them on the line outside to dry, just long enough for the birds to poo on them after they ate the blueberries.

When she was three I was hit, head-on by a drunk driver. I lost my car, a semester of school, and was unable to work for more than a month due to my injuries. I applied for welfare, but did not qualify since I had a lawsuit pending. A month later I was diagnosed with cervical cancer and all I could think about was, "What will happen to Nichole?" I had some family, but their financial situation was not much better than mine, and in my mind no one could take care of her the way I could. Not that I was really taking care of her financially, but no one could love her like I did.

I had surgery to remove the cancer. Again applied for welfare. Again denied. I overcame my accident related injuries and the following semester continued my same routine. Without the love I had for my daughter I would have never made it. We were without a car for years having to take cabs and buses everywhere, or accept rides from friends without a penny to pay for gas. Humble I was, but my dignity was withering away. I often wondered if she would hate me for bringing her into this world.

Five years later I graduated nursing school and a week after that I found who is now my husband. At first my daughter hated sharing me. I hated having to share myself. Difficult doesn't begin to describe our relationship. She had waited so long for me, and I for her, and now she would never have me, she thought. She was angry and had a right to be. They say that out of every bad situation something good comes of it. In this case it was food, and a new townhouse, and new (not goodwill or hand-me-down) clothes. It was a regular work schedule. It was being on the swim team and having friends come to a home she was proud of. It was Birthdays and Holiday that were what they should have been. It was an actual family. Something she had never known
about.

Well she is now nineteen and a sister to three little girls who adore her. A month ago she moved away, out of state to Philly. It's funny that when they are little you just think they will always be there, with you, in your home, and then one day poof they are gone. On their own in this great big world! I worry about her all the time. I worry if I've taught her enough to make it out there. I knew I should have put her in that infamous shoe box my mother always talked about. Or maybe if my cooking was better she would have stayed.

She's only an hour away and I love when she comes to visit. Ouch that hurts. According to her, this is not her house, it's her parents house now. She is, by far, my favorite visitor. My girls love seeing her. My three year old follows her around with starry eyes like she's Dora the Explorer or something. Her daddy (step) admires and adores the young woman she has become.

This past Holiday was so bitter sweet for me. It was my first holiday without her here, which left me so empty. Although she is nineteen and on her own I couldn't see myself not making up an Easter basket for her, so I did. As I write this her basket still waits, hidden neatly in its place to be found by her on her next visit. No one in the house will touch it as if it is some kind of shrine or something. Old habits never die, nor will the desire to see my daughter as the little girl that resides in my heart. Letting go is harder than I ever imagined it would be.

I have to say that although she and I had our share of struggles, I am extremely proud of who she has become. She has her cosmetology license and grand dreams attached to it. She lives in a loft in Center City and pays all her bills on time (so far). She turned out better than I ever expected she would, and if my other three turn out half as good as she did I will consider myself to have done a terrific job.

Although we no longer live under the same roof, or in the same state, or have the same interests, we have something bigger and better than anyone could ask for-a love, respect and admiration for one another that is insurmountable.

To all my girls I give my love, my strength, my soul. And in return, all I ask is that they give themselves everything they can dream....and more.