Tell me why

As my husband and I ponder the best place and path for our oldest daughter...

our beautiful precious Angel,

who feels so deeply and intensely,

thinks so logically,

and who is, apparently, not on the same track as her peers,

completely,

for intelligence or emotional development,

and who is,

allegedly,

according to educators,

just enough ahead to make it slightly challenging and uncomfortable

As we ponder her

amazing empathy

remarkable insight

deeply embedded and held intellectual curiosity

inspiring self-motivated learning and accomplishing

I asked her, off-handedly, for a real reason but no real reason what she thought of the kids in the grade ahead.

The only one I really know, Mom,

she told me,

was really really rude, like mean.

How's that I asked?

Heart pounding in my chest, recognizing that here we go again

I think

In the bathroom, my beautiful precious Angel said,

In the bathroom this girl told me that she hated me.

Hated me

echoed around the deep cavern in my chest created to house the huge love I have for my girls.

Hated me.

In the bathroom, my beautiful precious Angel said,

In the bathroom this girl told me that my classmate who I thought was a friend really, really hated me.

Hated me.

Who I asked, which classmate.

When she told me I was surprised not shocked surprised.

Tell me whyyy

Tell me whyyy

I may be mad
I may be blind
I may be viciously unkind
But I can still read what you're thinking

Do you think, I asked her,

Do you think that maybe she is afraid of your friendship with her friend?

Do you think she was trying to scare you away to protect her friendship with her friend?

As my mind hummed and hate me echoed around my heart, my girl told me

Told me that she asked her friend and her "friend" who always acted so kindly towards her as I could tell

Her "friend" who seemed to be so nice

Her "friend" who plays with her nearly every day on the playground

Her "friend" said

"Yeah I sort of do hate you."

And I thought I sort of do hate this a lot.

I sort of do want to tell your mother on you.

I sort of do want to tell all parents on both of you.

I tried really, really hard

to get over being a mad eight year old and furious mama bear inside

I tried to think what a real grownup would do.

Do you think that, I asked her

Do you think that she meant it?

I don't know, my beautiful, precious Angel said.

I don't know.

I resisted the urge to buy cotton wool for wrapping her in and instead wrapped her in my arms.

But, stoic, she resisted.

In both our eyes something bleak.

Let's go down to the water's edge
And we can cast away those doubts
Some things are better left unsaid

But they still turn me inside out
Turning inside out turning inside out
Tell me...
Why
Tell me...
Why

I tried to not make this me, about me

But I do not know, yet, how to overcome this sense I have of my girls not yet being out of me

In some way, they are more in my heart than ever they were in my womb.

It is how I know loving a child has more to do with being her parent than any part of giving birth.

A baby is born from a womb, but grows forever in a mother's heart, never born out of there.

It is why what she feels I feel and this I cannot stop.

So hate me echoes around that huge cavern that grew to house these girls as they grow in my heart.

And I try to think how to make it better, this hate that has been told to my beautiful precious Angel.

I try to keep my big mouth shut.

I try not to feel turned inside out.

These are the tears...

The tears we shed

This is the fear

This is the dread

These are the contents of my head

I'm sorry, I told her

I've had people be mean to me that way and honestly

truthfully

I told her

Honestly I sort of hate them back and it hurts inside.

It makes me feel a little broken, or wrong somehow.

Like maybe there is a reason in me for them to not like me.

Yeah, she said.

But we can't all like each other, not all of us.

Yeah, she said.

As my husband and I ponder our beautiful, precious Angel and how to do right by her

the strength she has inside

the internal drummer

to whom she marches

her beautiful mind

the mind her teachers always call amazing

her sense of justice

her prevailing sense of how things should be

even though they are so rarely

things

the way they ought to be

and our girl

eyes wide open

and all other senses just as open

knows this

feels it all so keenly

What I know is this...

to survive, you have to shut it down

shut it down enough to survive

I do not need to wrap her in cotton wool

She is wrapping herself.

And these are the years that we have spent

And this is what they represent

And this is how I feel

Do you know how I feel?

How it feels to watch your child wrap herself.

In her head, I can read what she is thinking.

And I've heard it too many times.

I've said it too many times.

Cause I don't think you know how I feel

I don't think you know what I feel

I don't think you know what I feel

You don't know what I feel

Oh my beautiful precious Angel, heart on two lengthening legs, oh my baby, with my lumpy throat

I know how you feel.