Gigi’s Gone

31. August 2016 at 16:37 (Posts in English) (, , , , , , , , , )

We had already said our goodbyes. Around twenty times by now. The parents were getting impatient.
“It will be like a vacation for you, okay? Only a little longer,” I said. Gigi’s eyes brimmed with tears. I bit on my lip. I just couldn’t tell her the truth.
“Okay.” She nodded and her two ponytails bobbed up and down accordingly.
“Wendy will wait for you here,” her mother said, softly tugging at the doll in Gigi’s hand. When Gigi let go, her mother put the doll in my arms instead. “There are plenty of new toys waiting for you at home,” she added.
Gigi looked at her and then at me. She didn’t understand. How could that woman talk about “home” when she meant a place Gigi had never seen before?
I smiled encouragingly. “Yes, Wendy will wait here with me,” I said, hugging the doll tightly to my chest.
The door opened, the door closed, an engine howled and Gigi was gone.

It has happened before, countless times. And without any doubt it will happen again, to mothers and fathers to whom life has not given kids, but only lent them.
In a deep, dark corner of my mind, I had known that this fate could come my way, too. That I could lose her one day. But whenever that thought popped up in my mind, I pushed it back down, letting it drown in a sea of predominantly happy thoughts. I would concentrate on her instead, watching her play and sing and grow up.

She had loved to run to the birdhouse on the lawn behind our house first thing in the morning. She would wave her little arms around and cry “Good morning, birdies!” and watch delightedly as the damsels and robins flew away as fast as their wings could take them, trilling and chatting. Then Gigi would wait very calmly as they hesitantly landed on the patio of their tiny house again, picking at the seeds while scanning the scenery for mischievous human beings. My little girl watched them for minutes at a time and I watched her through the kitchen window as I prepared her breakfast.

Now I’m preparing breakfast for only one person. Two slices of toast, butter, some strawberry jam and a cup of coffee. But I can’t eat. And the strong coffee I have prepared for myself makes my heart beat so fast that I’m certain I’m going to die this morning.
I have propped up Gigi’s doll Wendy and her two favourite stuffed animals, Walter Wolf and Freddy Fox, on the three empty chairs around me. They are not very good at filling the infinite blank Gigi has left behind. But it will be our last time sitting here together; before night falls, I will have stacked everything belonging to or made by Gigi neatly into boxes, not to be opened in the near future.

I have been ill-prepared for the fact that Gigi could be taken away from me. I will compensate that in being extremely careful to not be constantly reminded that I have lost her. And the life I had planned for us. I must not walk into the dark trap whose name is sadness. It has opened its ugly arms to pull me into a tight embrace, but I will not let it harm me. Again.
I will go on living a life – not my life, because my life was dedicated to being Gigi’s mother – and I will wait. And one day, I will be happy again. Even if I have to wait until Gigi comes to see me when she is a grown woman and can make her own choices.

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