A Change

I had lived in this body for a year and a half when everything changed. By then I could speak in complete and grammatical sentences with proper pronunciation and inflection. I could stand but not crawl or walk. My father was practically unknown to me, a shadowy figure to fear, but Mother taught me and gave me words and sentences. The slaps and the neglect continued, but words compensated.

Mother got the boy she wanted. Grandmother brought Mother with her new son home from the hospital and they found my father in bed with another woman. The women packed bags and suddenly I lived with my grandmother and grandfather. Grandmother was the only person who had ever cuddled me and changed and cleaned me when it wasn’t time. My grandfather spoke in a calm and kindly voice without swearing. And it turned out that Grandmother loved words too and had taught my mother and was willing to teach me. I was in a different world. Then Grandmother caught Mother slapping me and forbade her to ever do it again. It seemed I was to have words and kindness all at once. I was in bliss.

I had a brand new baby brother too. He didn’t do much, slept most of the time, and ate and needed to be changed, but he was a merry boy and I could make him smile and laugh. That was fun.

Grandmother lavished love on me. She put bubbles in the bath tub and actually helped me wash myself, washed my back and hair all by herself. Mother had expected me to figure it out from the time I was able to sit. The first thing was to cure my diaper rash. What a relief that was. I had back rubs before bed, and stories, and someone to tuck me in. Pop—Mother wanted me to call him Grandfather, but he wouldn’t have it—would crawl on the floor and growl like a bear and let me ride on his back! I quickly learned to crawl and walk myself since I had entire rooms open to me to explore. What a life. Soon there was a swing set in the back yard and Pop pushing me and teaching me to pump myself. And then Mother was gone. 

Grandmother had the need to explain Mother’s absence to me and read the letter she had left. The letter changed my life. Mother wrote that she had only had children to keep her marriage together, she had never wanted them herself, and since her own parents seemed to like having children around, they could keep my brother and me. Grandmother explained—I had been abandoned by my own mother.

My heart quaked. Apparently abandoning children was easy. Anyone could do it at any time, but I was still too little to fend for myself. I needed adults to take care of me. What could I do? Speaking properly was not enough to make my mother keep me. I’d have to do more—do everything right, be good; obey and smile, be loving and kind, and never cry. Would that be enough?