I have often been afforded the agonizing honor of sharing in the last hours of a person's life. I've written about these moments before, but my grief this morning is of a different nature.
Just an hour ago, my wife and I left behind our "daughter for a year" at the airport. I haven't sobbed so much since a dear friend died a few years back. My heart is crushed. Making her scrambled eggs one last time, carrying her luggage to the car, and driving her down the hill (as I did so many mornings on the way to school or one of the many activities she was involved in) carried such a sense of finality. She is ours no longer.
I remember the first week she was here I introduced her to someone as my "daughter for the year." She looked me in the eyes with her determined gaze and responded, "I will be your daughter forever."
No, I am not her father, and she has a wonderful man she calls Dad waiting to welcome her home. And no, she is not my blood daughter. I have one of those that I treasure beyond what any words can say. But as I sobbed my good-byes this morning--as I let go of her at the airport security line--my heart broke as I never thought it could.
Koba Sivsivadze, oo vas yest chudesnee dochka! (You have a wonderful daughter!) But it has been my honor to care for her for the past year. Thank you for trusting our family to watch over her. She will change her world in everything she does, as she has changed ours in this little town in Indiana.
And I hope you don't mind me saying, while understanding my lesser role, Gvantsa will also be my daughter, forever.
9 comments:
good-byes are never fun...
Dave - I sit sobbing tonight for you and your family. I feel I come close to understanding what you are going through because of having to give up "a daughter of my own" after caring for her for 17 months. It was truly the hardest thing I have ever done, and a thing that most have no clue how you truly feel. I will pray for her and you. Love, Sandy
Gvantsa is a lucky girl...good fathers are a blessing and she has two!
Thanks everyone. Zee probably remembers a very difficult set of good-byes in 1994. Our kids learned to hate airports.
David, thank you for articulating the pains of loving. I have been thinking about this ever since our school days began being numbered (I was Gvantsa's creative writing teacher). My first experience with such pain, and especially the pain of saying good-bye was with my grandmother. I loved her so much and sobbed my heart out, each time we said good-bye after one of our visits (we lived in a different state). Saying good-bye to Gvantsa, brought fresh memories of that pain back. I wonder if our sense of pain is deeper when we love someone unconditionally or if the person loves us unconditionally? That is the beautiful thing about Gvantsa (and my grandmother), she loves unconditionally. That unconditional love and joy she shared with so many will truly be missed. I look forward to seeing her again. In the meantime, she will change the lives of many with her love and joy.
Debb,
I'm sure unconditional love is more endearing. Grief is the experience we are all expressing. I love the audacious promise I hold to--that grief will be forever remedied.
Ah, yes . . . the reminder of that promise makes my heart smile through the mist of my tears
heh, true... that's one of the thing i hated (and still do, sort of) in living in Ukraine - every year we had someone come over and i would naturally hang out with them because mom was with them (or later i was there on my own)... and every time - they left. it's hard to say good-bye when you're leaving some place, but it's even harder to keep saying those good-byes.
I know what you mean, Zee. Sad thing--my daughter said she began resisting close relationships because of our moves. She even did a bit this rear out of fear of the week we've just experienced. Didn't work tho. All of us are hurting.
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