In one week, my youngest child will get married. She is 32. Her older sister is married and the mom of a two year old, and her older brother is still finding his way in life, with navigating rather rough seas. Oh the days of being in charge of their daily travels. The hardest thing I have had to do in life is find the letting go spot, and just letting them be. And, here I am again.
I reflect often on the day she landed in my arms in our “birthing room” at LAX. Six months old. Quiet and curious. She came to us through International Adoption, but she was in my heart from the moment her picture had arrived, and even before. She was a cranky baby, until a life-threatening bout with Kawasaki syndrome almost took her from us at 18 months, but after that harrowing episode, she was a delight and a non-stop circus in motion, complete with acrobatics, stand-up comedy, theatrics, giggles, parades and fun. She just hadn’t felt well. Now she did.
So different from my very serious older daughter. So different from her brother. But so alike to them both, in some ways, too. My oldest daughter like most teens liked to pretend she didn’t have parents. My son was oblivious to that fact. My youngest would yell with delight whenever she saw me and say, “Hey, there’s my DAD! Hey Dad! Come meet my friends!”
Her mom and I had divorced as I became very aware that a straight marriage would not quiet nor change my true nature of being Gay. So, in a Gay relationship now for over 32 years, she grew from age two with two sets of parents. My ex quickly remarried after our divorce, and I am happy to say we both stayed with our first partners after that event. This daughter took on the sense of humor and the sense of fun and absurdity of life that is my partner. They are inseparable in nature and outlook, and delight in one another any time they can be together, or on the phone. She would tell him everything. He would tell me what I could handle.
One of my favorite memories will ALWAYS be when she was about 3, and about 24 inches tall, with her little short bowl haircut. She came running into the room where we were visiting with friends, and planted her feet wide apart, and pointed at ALL of us very seriously and then slowly wagged her little pointing finger at us, saying quite seriously “NAUGHTY boys! NAUGHTY boys!” And, then she was off…
