My daughter and I talked during most of her life. As a kid, I'd find her at the end of my bed as I was about to drop off to sleep. I'd fight to stay awake as I listened.
Other times we would sink to the floor outside our bedrooms. Her cat or my dogs would crawl into my lap as we talked.
Even separated by an ocean we chat regularly on Facebook. Now there are three precious weeks with her joining me in France. We chatter away and even better we are in hugging distance.
What amazes me is that for all our talking, how much wasn't said. Only recently did I discover, she thought she had no choice on Christmas arrangements. Her father and I agreed when we divorced, she would never be used as a weapon between us. He'd seen what I went through as a teenager and I will always be grateful to him for upholding that.
He and I decided that she'd spend Christmas Eve with me, Christmas Day with him and his new family. Recently, I was shocked to discover she didn't like the split holiday.
"Why didn't you say something?" I asked. My ex and I would have worked it out had we known.
"I didn't think I had a choice."
Reenacting Christmases is impossible. Should I have been more aware?
Sometimes, I think that I raised another child and my daughter had another mother. She remembers things I have no recollection about while she doesn't remember things that I considered important.
For the first eight years of her life I read to her before bedtime almost every night. She doesn't deny that I did, but she doesn't remember it. She only half believes my threat to get all the Little Golden Books, etc. and reread them to her now. I probably recite Dr. Seuss by memory.
A new revelation came this week. As we ate in a restaurant, the subject of fish came up. Both my second husband and my daughter dislike fish. The French word for fish is poisson pronounced poison, something they declare is appropriate.
"All the kids at day care were so excited when we had fish sticks for lunch," she said.
"Which one?"
"Living and Learning."
My daughter had been there when she was three and four.
"What did you do?"
"I only ate the vegetables."
"Did you know that my best friend Mardy's father sold the food to that school? Whenever he was there, he'd check on you?"
She didn't.
It's amazing that after all this time I'm still learning about her and vice versa.
Not just when I'm talking mother to child, I am trying harder to listen to what isn't spoken in all my conversations.
Visit https://dlnelsonwriter.com to see D-L's 18 published books.
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