Chapter 70 2024
Profe used to say, “Man plans; God laughs.”
“I think you look adorable,” Meryl said.
I glared at her as Ivy twirled, showing how the yellow satin Snow White skirt flared and winked in the light.
Sometimes I couldn’t believe the child was my daughter.
She loved dolls and dress-up and tea parties.
The Disney costume, bought for Halloween six months earlier, was her favorite, and she’d worn it nearly every day since then.
The left sleeve was torn, the edge of the skirt was frayed, and it was stained in at least a dozen places.
“I want to be pretty,” Ivy said.
“You are pretty,” I said, wincing inside, the message the opposite of the one I’d tried to instill in her about looks being secondary to everything else. “But a princess dress isn’t appropriate for school.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not.”
“You’re the one who’s always saying we should espress ourselves however we want, and I want to espress myself as a princess.”
Meryl laughed. “She’s got you there.”
I shot her another laser glare, and she shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. Her hand trembled, and I tried to gauge whether the quiver was getting worse.
Turning back to Ivy, I said, “There’s a time and place for expressing yourself, and the first day of school isn’t it.”
“Why not?” she repeated, and I wondered if I had been as infuriating as a child and, if so, how Boodo dealt with me.
I thought about Boodo often those days. She’d died nearly five years earlier from a heart attack, passing away a few months after Ivy and I left Somalia. I often imagined her looking down from above and rolling her eyes as I bumbled my way through motherhood.
“Princesses rock,” Meryl said and held up her hand for Ivy to high-five, which my daughter did with gusto.
Outnumbered and out of time, I said, “Fine,” cringing at the idea of what the other parents would think when they saw Ivy in a Halloween costume. “Let’s go.”
“Photo first,” Meryl said, pulling out her phone.
Ivy posed with her hands on her hips like a superhero. At least she was a very empowered fairy-tale princess.
Meryl’s hand shook so badly she couldn’t manage to click the photo, so she handed the phone to me. I forced myself to continue smiling and not show how concerned I was.
It took us months to figure out what was wrong.
Because of COVID, it was nearly impossible to get a face-to-face appointment with a doctor.
Finally, we were able to see a neurologist. He did an exhaustive exam and ran a battery of tests, and the diagnosis he came back with was devastating—early onset Parkinson’s, likely brought on by the multiple concussions Meryl suffered when she skated competitively.
The news changed everything. Elwood moved back to Moosewood from Florida, and Ivy and I moved from Meryl’s house into Kendall House so I’d be close enough to help if needed but not in their way. COVID was especially dangerous for people with medical conditions, including those with Parkinson’s.
Three years after we arrived in Minnesota, the World Health Organization declared an end to the public health emergency, but by then, I couldn’t bear the idea of leaving Meryl and Elwood.
Usually, Ivy and I drove to Moosewood to visit them, but for Ivy’s first day of school, Meryl had driven to us. It was unclear how much longer she’d be able to drive. Based on the twitches and tremors, I was worried she’d lose that independence sooner than we’d hoped.
I snapped the photo, gave the phone back to Meryl, and hand in hand, Ivy and I hurried out the door.