wrong I’d been to move in with Michael; if I’d begged for her forgiveness. I’d thought about doing this a hundred times, but pride kept me from picking up the phone. Pride, and an intense, quiet fear that she’d want nothing to do with me or my daughters. Now, even though I’d been expecting it, I felt my mother’s rejection of her grandchildren—her rejection of me—like a stab in the heart.
“How much longer?” I asked Gina now. She sat with me in the family visiting room at the jail, ready to supervise my last visit with my daughters. None of this seemed real to me yet. I’d signed the papers, answered the judge when he asked me if I understood what I was agreeing to do, and the entire time, I felt removed from my own body, as though I were floating toward the ceiling, watching someone who looked like me go through the appropriate motions and play my part.
“Any minute,” Gina said, reaching over to squeeze my hand. Her fingers warmed my dry, icy skin. The orange industrial soap in the jail’s shower was like sandpaper. “You okay?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I finally said, my voice barely a whisper.
“The judge already signed off on the order.”
“No,” I said. The tension in my chest was unbearable, my muscles braided themselves into excruciating knots. “I meant I don’t know if I can see them.” I leaned forward, pressing my upper body against my skinny thighs, and grabbed my ankles. Gina placed her hand on my back.
“If you don’t,” she said, “you’ll regret it. Trust me. You need closure.”
Closure, I thought, is impossible. I was convinced giving them up was the right thing, the best thing for them, but the agony I’d felt after making the decision had shattered into sharp metal shavings lodged under my skin. Every move I made, every breath I took hurt more than the last.
Righting myself, I glanced around the room, a small, square space with brick walls painted gray, the table at which we sat, and a sad pile of dirty-looking toys in a basket in the corner. A crooked poster of Sesame Street characters hung by the door; some asshole had drawn a pair of blue breasts on Big Bird.
“Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?” I asked Gina, who paused and gave me a long, thoughtful look before responding.
“I think you’re giving them the very best chance you can.”
As though on cue, the door swung open, and a woman with long silver hair entered, carrying Natalie in a car seat and holding Brooke’s small hand. “Mama!” my older daughter shrilled, racing toward me. “Mama, Mama, Mama!”
“Oh, honey,” I said, opening my arms as she threw herself full force into them, clambering up into my lap. Tears blurred my vision and I buried my face in her dark curls. She was warm and smelled like green apple shampoo; she wore a green-and-blue plaid dress, brown saddle shoes, and clean, white tights. I can’t do it, I thought as I hugged her, kissing her sweet face. I can’t. What the hell was I thinking, that I could give this up? It felt as though I’d agreed to have two perfectly healthy and functional limbs lopped off. From that point on, I’d be an emotional amputee.
The silver-haired woman stepped inside and set Natalie’s car seat on the floor next to me. “I’ll be back in an hour,” she said, and Gina thanked her, moving a chair to the corner. She had already told me she couldn’t leave me alone with the girls, that this final visit needed to be supervised. Another reminder of just how unfit a mother I was.
“Where have you been?” Brooke asked, her voice muffled against me. Her small fingers dug into my back. “I missed you so much!”
“I missed you, too,” I said, choking on the words. I looked down at Natalie, who had her big sister’s lavender blanket tucked around her. She’d already changed so much, just in a month. She was bigger, and had more wisps of light blond hair. Her cheeks
“How much longer?” I asked Gina now. She sat with me in the family visiting room at the jail, ready to supervise my last visit with my daughters. None of this seemed real to me yet. I’d signed the papers, answered the judge when he asked me if I understood what I was agreeing to do, and the entire time, I felt removed from my own body, as though I were floating toward the ceiling, watching someone who looked like me go through the appropriate motions and play my part.
“Any minute,” Gina said, reaching over to squeeze my hand. Her fingers warmed my dry, icy skin. The orange industrial soap in the jail’s shower was like sandpaper. “You okay?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I finally said, my voice barely a whisper.
“The judge already signed off on the order.”
“No,” I said. The tension in my chest was unbearable, my muscles braided themselves into excruciating knots. “I meant I don’t know if I can see them.” I leaned forward, pressing my upper body against my skinny thighs, and grabbed my ankles. Gina placed her hand on my back.
“If you don’t,” she said, “you’ll regret it. Trust me. You need closure.”
Closure, I thought, is impossible. I was convinced giving them up was the right thing, the best thing for them, but the agony I’d felt after making the decision had shattered into sharp metal shavings lodged under my skin. Every move I made, every breath I took hurt more than the last.
Righting myself, I glanced around the room, a small, square space with brick walls painted gray, the table at which we sat, and a sad pile of dirty-looking toys in a basket in the corner. A crooked poster of Sesame Street characters hung by the door; some asshole had drawn a pair of blue breasts on Big Bird.
“Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?” I asked Gina, who paused and gave me a long, thoughtful look before responding.
“I think you’re giving them the very best chance you can.”
As though on cue, the door swung open, and a woman with long silver hair entered, carrying Natalie in a car seat and holding Brooke’s small hand. “Mama!” my older daughter shrilled, racing toward me. “Mama, Mama, Mama!”
“Oh, honey,” I said, opening my arms as she threw herself full force into them, clambering up into my lap. Tears blurred my vision and I buried my face in her dark curls. She was warm and smelled like green apple shampoo; she wore a green-and-blue plaid dress, brown saddle shoes, and clean, white tights. I can’t do it, I thought as I hugged her, kissing her sweet face. I can’t. What the hell was I thinking, that I could give this up? It felt as though I’d agreed to have two perfectly healthy and functional limbs lopped off. From that point on, I’d be an emotional amputee.
The silver-haired woman stepped inside and set Natalie’s car seat on the floor next to me. “I’ll be back in an hour,” she said, and Gina thanked her, moving a chair to the corner. She had already told me she couldn’t leave me alone with the girls, that this final visit needed to be supervised. Another reminder of just how unfit a mother I was.
“Where have you been?” Brooke asked, her voice muffled against me. Her small fingers dug into my back. “I missed you so much!”
“I missed you, too,” I said, choking on the words. I looked down at Natalie, who had her big sister’s lavender blanket tucked around her. She’d already changed so much, just in a month. She was bigger, and had more wisps of light blond hair. Her cheeks
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