Chapter 32
Dear Mom and Dad,
I hated my childhood. I hated having to attend five different schools, because your careers had us moving so much. I hated that you memorized the scientific names for plants, but you couldn’t remember to make it to my school play.
And that one time, the gala at Brookgreen Gardens, I hated the most. I was maybe eight years old and got tired of standing around while you two were busy mingling well into the night.
I hunkered down by one of those statues in the garden and fell asleep.
Y’all FORGOT me! Just went home and didn’t realize until a maintenance worker found me and called you.
I remember sitting in that gatehouse by the entrance and being relieved to see Cy’s car pull up and not yours.
I think I began hating you a little after that night.
I tossed the pen on the desk and crumpled the paper. How could this be helpful? Stirring up all those memories just made me more upset. Made me want to scream. Made me want to take a drink.
My parents were not present in my life, even while standing right in front of me. I tried filling those voids with things that I shouldn’t. Alcohol, pills, partying. Looking back on it now, I probably did it for attention too.
After throwing away the letter, I moved to Fern’s room and started making her bed with the new sheet set. The color reminded me of pale orange sherbet and would complement the colors of the quilt.
After placing the finished quilt on Fern’s bed, I took a step back and surveyed the room.
It was ready for her, but was I ready for the responsibility?
The first two years of her life, I had lived in a constant state of foggy grief, worsened by alcohol.
And as Cy stated, I had a lot of help with taking care of her.
Friday’s therapy session had me facing some hard truths with my parents but also facing the hard truth Cy pointed out.
I didn’t know how to be a parent. The fact of the matter was that no judge was going to keep Fern away from me.
I’d looked it up, and the goal is always to rehabilitate the parent and return the child to them.
In the eyes of the judicial system I was, in fact, rehabilitated.
That meant I needed to learn how to parent.
ASAP! But first I needed to get to Seacoast.
On the way to church, I contemplated how to go about learning to be a parent.
YouTube, obviously, but maybe an in-person class would be better.
A good fifteen minutes early for the service, I parked in the shade, rolled down the window, and took a moment to do a search for parenting classes on my phone.
“Whatcha doin’ out here by ya’self?”
I jumped, nearly flinging the phone but managed to hold on to it. “Good grief, Pearl! You just took a decade off my life!”
She hobbled off and I thought the odd lady was gone but then the passenger side door flung open. “Come help me up.”
I doubted questioning her would do any good, so I hopped out and did as she instructed. Once I was settled back into my seat, she started jabbering.
“The youth these days.” She tsked. “Always got ya faces buried in ya phones. So much so you didn’t even hear me call ya name.”
I cut her a sideways glare and picked up my phone from the cup holder. “I was looking up something very important, I’ll have you know.”
She squinted at my phone. “What’s so important? A new Facebook friend request?”
“No. It’s . . .” I had not shared about the custody battle with the Magnolia group, but maybe that was part of my issue.
Not sharing. Not leaning on the support network around me.
I looked over at the little lady waiting for an answer and decided to take a chance and give her one.
“I’m working on getting custody of my daughter back and .
. . honestly I’m scared I’m not going to know how to take care of her, so I was looking up parenting classes. ”
She clucked her tongue. “In my day, we didn’t have books or classes. We just had our instincts.”
I lowered the phone to my lap. “You think that’s all I need? My instincts?”
Pearl gave my question some thought, tapping her chin. “Probably not. You already screwed it up once.”
My shoulders hunched. “I can’t afford to screw it up again. I can’t do that to Fern.”
“Fern.” Pearl nodded. “That’s a good name.” She patted my shoulder. “Sit up straight and let’s find a class we can go to.”
I eyed her. “You’re going to go with me?”
“Sure,” Pearl said.
“Why?”
She gave me a haughty frown. “You rather go by ya’self?”
“No ma’am. Not really.”
“Then find one and we’ll go.”
And that’s what I did, and Pearl held true to her word and went with me.
The class ended up being helpful—I learned about child safety and appropriate car seats.
We also ended up attending a CPR class together the following week.
Pearl was a hoot, cracking jokes in class, and I felt normal again, just a mother wanting to learn how to take proper care of my child.
In the midst of everything this summer, I’d come to understand just how extraordinary normal could be. I also realized that living like a hellion wasn’t really living. That lifestyle was oppressing, but living a quiet, steady life was freeing.