When the school bell rings this fall, Eleni will be a senior—a fifth-grader at the elementary school she attends, in Brooklyn. This fact astounds me, as it seems like yesterday that Eleni—dressed in a white cotton top and lavender skirt—held my hand tightly as I walked her to her first day of kindergarten and cried when I said goodbye.
Five years later, my daughter (now allergic to dresses, skirts, and anything girly) often rides her scooter while I walk her to school. Sometimes Eleni idles beside me, and other times she zooms ahead to catch up with a friend. Her farewell hugs and kisses are quicker now, as she’s anxious to rush into the schoolyard and mingle with her ever-growing group of pals.
Since Eleni’s first day of kindergarten, shes learned to read, write, do math, and negotiate the social politics of the playground. She also understands herself, and what it means to be adopted. Back when she was five, Eleni figured out that she had a real, live set of parents who live in China. We were talking about her birth parents one day, when Eleni looked up and said, “Oh, wow, Mommy. I didn’t know my Chinese parents were real!” (Until that time, I suppose she thought they were fictitious characters in her adoption story.) The next day, Eleni rushed into class to tell her friends about these newfound Chinese relatives. Later, as she watched her Big Bird in China video for the umpteenth time, I could see her swell with pride.
But after the initial glow wore off, my daughter began to feel a sense of loss. She told me that she missed her Chinese parents and wondered why they couldn’t keep her. She cried after a day in Chinatown, seeing all of the Chinese mommies with their children. She sometimes pondered what her days would have been like had she stayed in China, even though she loved her life in America, and me, with all her heart.
Shortly after these discoveries, my father—who had been the main man in Eleni’s life, and a fun and playful soulmate—died, rather suddenly, from cancer. For me, my father’s death was an eruption of all things stable, an unexpected blow to a single mother’s busy life. For Eleni, losing Grandpa was painful and confusing. At school, she would see her grandfather’s wispy hair in the soft, white clouds above the yard. At home, she would question how a man so youthful and seemingly healthy could leave us so suddenly. I wondered whether my daughter, who had lost so much in the first years of life, would be able to love again wholeheartedly.
Several years later, I can say that Eleni’s losses have been tempered by joy. My nine-year-old has a happy home, friendships, books, and adventures—and a desire to make sense of her world. The other day, for example, Eleni and I were heading out to the zoo. As we waited for the subway, she said, “You know, Mom, I’m not sure whether I’ll have a baby when I’m older, or whether I’ll adopt one. When you have a baby, you get to create something special; and when you adopt a baby, you kind of get to help her have a family. I think both ways are really cool.” I told Eleni that perhaps she could do both someday, and she said, “Maybe.” Then she was on to the next thing, wondering what animals we’d see at the zoo and what we’d eat for lunch.
Illustration by Audrey Robinson
