Breakthrough

“I’m done.” She got up, stormed to the guest bedroom and slammed the door.

My daughter. My only child. And now so at odds with me. Painful.

I never wanted to be a mother. My husband and I had moved to western Montana in the early 90s. On a lovely twenty-acre ranch bordering the forest service where I raised Shetland sheep. I spun the wool and knitted garments, eventually having a small business, “Baby Owl Craft and Sweater.” It was a side hustle. Both my husband and I were in the Entertainment Industry. He as a budding tv writer, and myself, an actor. We toggled between LA and Montana for work, but our hearts were on the Montana ranch.

As a member of the local fiber guild, it was my responsibility to man the spinning exhibit during the local county fair. It was fun. Growing up in urban New York, we didn’t have county fairs, with kids showing the animals they raised. I was enthralled by the exhibits and contests and rides and the food…oh, my, the food. Anyway, I’m manning the spinning exhibit…showing how to spin wool. I had a constant stream of folks coming by and it’s almost the end of my shift, when a little boy about four years old, showed up. He was notable for being Black. His very dark skin shimmered in the sunlight. His beautiful coal eyes wide with curiosity.

In those days in the early 90s, there was almost no Black kids…or adults for that matter, in Western Montana. I only knew one Black family. The dad was a professor at the University in Missoula.

Having grown up in a racially diverse area in New York, I was thrilled to behold this African American boy. I thought: “At last, we have some diversity in our town.” I was eager to meet his family, so I immediately engaged him, showing him how to spin. Letting him try it. He told me proudly that his name was Joshua.

We chatted and laughed and talked for about twenty minutes. He asked if he could sit on my lap to get a better position to spin. Of course, I said yes. And I waited for his family to arrive.

Then I heard a woman’s voice calling out: “Joshua? Joshua?” Ah, at last, I would meet his…

To my surprise, a very white woman came around the corner. Tall with long honey colored hair and blue eyes, she saw Joshua on my lap happily attempting to spin wool and couldn’t suppress a smile, although it was clear she had been very worried.

“Joshua, we’ve been looking for you for an hour.”

“But I’m right here, Mom.” He said, his beautiful face beaming joy at her.

We started talking and she said that Joshua was adopted at birth. That in fact, she and her husband decided to participate in an African American adoption program. In those days, the mid-90s, a dark skinned African American boy was the least adoptable child in the United States. It wasn’t right. The discrimination in skin color was abhorrent, but real at that time. And the majority of those births ended up in foster care. And Joshua's mother told me about that, and I thought about it.

Then the mom said, “OK, Joshua, we have to go.” And he slipped off my lap and started running to his mom when he suddenly turned around, pointed at me and said: “You ought to get one of me.” Then he turned and ran off and they got lost in the crowd.

It took me about an hour to drive back to my ranch. Joshua saying that to me…it seemed like a message. A message of fate, destiny, divine mission. I don’t know. The entire time I drove, I thought about Joshua. Inside myself, I knew I had the skills to raise a Black child and keep him close to his culture and yet, give him the skills to navigate the dangers. I had many black male friends tell me about “the talk” – how to handle themselves with police, etc. I knew Joshua was right…I need to get one of him.

I walked into our cabin and saw my husband who had always wanted to have children. And I said, “What do you think about adopting a dark skinned African American boy?”

His eyes got wide, and said: “Yes, but why a dark skinned African American boy?” and I explained.”

The adoption process was arduous and at times, bumpy, but eventually we were paired with a pregnant mom. She was lovely. She and I hit it off instantly, and everything went well. And the irony is when the baby popped out, it was a girl!

It seems that in one of the ultrasounds, her little pinky was in between her legs and looking like a pennis, and that's what made them think she was a boy. In fact, not only was she a girl, but she was really kind of light skinned, sort of café au lait color. So much for plans…God laughs at those.

She was beautiful. She was absolutely beautiful, and we took her home. We kept in contact with her birth mother. She lived in another state and told me she needed to get her life together. So, it was decided we would keep in touch, and I would send her pictures and updates and that eventually, when our girl was older, they would mee.

When our daughter was 18, we had a big meeting between her and then met the rest of her birthmother’s family. It was glorious. They have a wonderful relationship to this day.

Those growing up years were fantastic. My daughter was incredibly athletic, so that meant I was always going to baseball games, soccer, skiing, horseback riding but her main sport ended up being tennis, which she played all through college and even some in the pros.

And she was wonderful. In many ways we are alike, and, in many ways, we are very, very different. But we always had an active and fantastic relationship.

Then in 2009, my husband and I got divorced. I was blindsided. It was very difficult for me, and it was a difficult time for her. She was only 12 then. But we got through it with tears and anger and everything. But we got through it. Eventually, I moved to the Big Island of Hawai’i. I put my savings into a great place with an ocean view and a lap pool.

And now here she is. Visiting me in paradise. She’s almost 28 years old and she slammed the door and said, “I'm done”.

I cried all night. The next morning, she came out of the bedroom, went to the kitchen and poured herself some coffee. I just looked at her. I was afraid to say anything.

She looked at me and she said, “How you doing?”

And I said, “I'm doing OK. How are you doing?”

“OK, I think.”

“You want to sit down with our coffees?”, I said oh so tentatively

And she said, “Yes.”

And we sat outside on this beautiful lanai in Hawaii where we talked. Really talked. We talked and we cried, and we talked. And then we hugged. Her strong body holding onto me like she did when she was a little girl. We told each other how much we loved each other. It was beautiful. And I understood her so much better.

I mean, all my mom stuff -- trying to protect her from the world, trying to give her advice, trying to trying to, trying to. She explained to me, “Mom, I'm fine. I'm grown up. I'm an adult and I'll make mistakes, but I can do it. You always believed I could do it in tennis. Why don't you believe I can do it now in life?”

Her point finally pierced my overprotective brain. I had to let go. I had to be there as support, but I had to let go.

I smiled. She smiled, and then she decided to go for a swim. I grabbed my phone and started taking photos and I caught this one... of her breaking through the water, a symbol of our personal breakthrough.