Page 67 of Requiem

“You’re not happy for her, then?”

The question isn’t an accusation, so much as a curiosity.

“Happy? No. She left me to rot in an orphanage while she started a shiny new family, not thirty miles down the road.”

“I’m so sorry, Julia. Have you been in touch with her?”

“Yes. I finally gave in and sat down with her for a cup of coffee about six months ago … I was curious more than anything. I wanted to see how she could possibly justify leaving me … with him. She knew the kind of man my father was and she left me with him anyway. Trudy, the man burned me with a car cigarette lighter. He broke my ribs and scalded me with hot coffee. There was no one to protect me.”

At some point during this hellish little narrative, the tears started to fall and I feel them drip down my cheeks and under the collar of my blouse. Trudy reaches into her purse and hands me a tissue, which I accept with a grateful sniff.

“Anyway,” I continue after a minute, “we met and I asked her, point blank, why she didn’t take me with her.”

“And what was her reply?”

I scoff and roll my eyes as if it’s too unbelievable to even say out loud. But then, I say it out loud.

“She told me that she knew that as bad as my father could be, I would still be safer with him than with her. That she knew she might end up doing something awful if she took me with her and that she’d make the same decision again if she had it to do over again. Can you believe that?” I ask incredulously.

Trudy seems to give this some thought. “I know you don’t want to hear this,” she begins slowly, quietly, “but I have to say it makes perfect sense to me.”

“What?”

“Julia, one of the hardest things for any parent to comprehend is that there are times when the best thing you can do for your child is to leave him.”

I shake my head. “No. No, I don’t buy that …”

She holds up a finger to stop me. “Please, just hear me out. I have been a kindergarten teacher for more years than you’ve been alive and I’ve seen my share of family dysfunction. Bitter divorces where the children are pawns, abusive parents, abusive children, homelessness, abandonment …and some of the vile atrocities one human being can inflict upon another.

“But I’ve also seen incredible acts of heroism in some of those situations. And in that category I include the father who threw himself between his daughter and an oncoming car and the mother who gave full custody to her ex-husband and committed herself to an institution for psychiatric care.”

“Trudy, how can you compare those things to what my mother did? There was nothing heroic about her actions. She wasn’t saving my life or protecting me from what she might do …”

“Wasn’t she?” Trudy asks. “Now, believe me, I pray to Jesus you never have to face a situation like that, but until you do, then you’ll never know the agony that your own mother felt in making the decision to let you go.”

I can feel the shock that must be telegraphed across my face … slack mouth, wide eyes, flaring nostrils. I simply cannot believe what I’m hearing.

“When something like that happens,” she continues, “you have to fight yourself, every instinct you have as a mother. You have to make a decision you may very well be hated for, during the rest of your life. But you’ll do it. And you would do it again if you had to, because you know in your heart that it’s the best thing you can do for him.”

I lean forward across the table so that eyes are locked together.

“Are you telling me that she abandoned me because it was the best thing for me? Trudy! How can you possibly …”

“I don’t know your mother or her situation. But, based on what you’ve told me, I’m guessing she felt leaving you was a better option than what you might have endured had she taken you with her that day. She was a prostitute …and a drug addict to boot.”

I nod miserably.

“Well, it’s my understanding that the kinds of people who move in those worlds would think nothing of offering her a fix for … use … of a beautiful, innocent little girl.”

“I – I don’t understand …”

She closes her eyes for a brief second and then answers.

“I’m saying, that desperate people do desperate things, Julia. And that somewhere, deep in her addled mind, she knew that taking you with her was not an option that day because … because she wasn’t strong enough to protect you from herself.”

“More coffee?” a perky young waitress pops in and I practically jump out of my seat.

“No!” I say a little too harshly. “I’m sorry,” I say more softly. “No, thank you. We’ll let you know if we need something else.”