Fuchsia by Terri Rimmer

 The last time I saw you hangs in the form of a dress on my bedroom door.

Dec. 2018 - your high school graduation.

The last time I saw your face, spoke to you, if you can call it that, though we didn't really have a conversation because you were (are) still mad at me, justifiably so since I broke your trust - something I swore I would never do.

The fucshia dress I wore to your winter graduation still hangs there as a symbol of loss, memories, embarrassment, regret, hope, (your middle name), and hopelessness.

I can't put it away for two reasons - my closet in the master bedroom has an underground water leak so there's a horrible damp smell there. And my two closets in the spare room are full.

But I don't really want to put it away.

Though it has been gathering dust, I keep it there as a reminder of when we last saw each other, that I got to see you graduate from high school after all you went through with your health for sixteen years, when, I believe, God chose to heal you after so many visits to specialists.

It's a gorgeous dress that really belongs on someone worthy of wearing it.

Not someone like me who betrayed your trust by posting photos of your entire life on social media for all to see without asking your permission or your adoptive mom.

I was just so proud, so proud to be your birth mom and since we had a semi-open adoption I thought it was okay.

I was defensive in my soul. You're my daughter, I reasoned, and I honestly thought to the depths of my being that you would be so happy to see them proudly displayed on my Facebook page all these years that you would embrace our lack of relationship and cry tears of joy.

But, that's not what happened.

Not at all.

You were embarrassed. Ashamed. Appalled.

I was stunned.

Couldn't you see I was just so proud of you?

I heard about your reaction through your adoptive mom as I always heard about your reactions since we didn't have that kind of communication between the two of us.

It was devastating.

I voluntarily took all the recent pictures down, a tedious process, doing so with purpose, knowing it was hurting you but with also much pain for me.

Then I told your adoptive mom and wrote you a forgive me letter, letting you know that I never meant to hurt you and that the last thing in the world I wanted to do was cause you harm.

I don't know if you ever got the letter.

All I know is that was almost two years ago and birthdays, holidays, Mother's Days, and many special occasions have passed since and no forgiveness has come.

Today you turned 20 and went back to college to start your sophomore year.

I couldn't be prouder. You've made me proud your whole life. Fighting each obstacle that has been thrown your way, you never complained like I would have; just got up and fought.

You've had a great life, thank God, one that I could never provide. Since we had a semi-open adoption I got to see you two to three times a year and it was wonderful.

And now with the corona virus, not only do I have the fear that you might catch it at school, but I'm so scared that you will never forgive me and something will happen to one of us before you decide to speak to me again.

I wish so much that I could just see you and talk to you. Sometimes I pray that somehow you'll just know or sense my intentions and forgive me.

Everyone says you'll come around.

But what if you don't?

I placed you for adoption to give you a fantastic life and you have had one. It was kismet that you had two nurses for parents who were able to tend to your health condition, something I could not do. And now that you have been healed for four years and thriving, I marvel, as I always have at what you will do next.

Somehow I have to be okay if I have to go the rest of my life without you speaking to me.

But for today, as you say good-bye to your teens, the fuchsia dress still hangs on my bedroom door, in wait.