One Answer and Your World Changes

(So hard to write)

5 hours. 

300 minutes

18000 seconds

That is how long he had her June 26, 2010.  

*******

He dropped her off, placing her down in between the first and the second glass openings as always.  There was the same whisper in her ear and she moved closer to me. 

I squeezed her when I got her and took her hand to walk to our car.  I said something along the lines of getting a good parking spot and she let out a small laugh.  I told her I missed her and she said “me too.” 

When we got in the car, I asked how things had gone. 

Fine.

“Let me guess,” I said trying to be funny.  “Chuck E Cheese, Wunderland or Safari Sam’s.” I said. 

“No,” she said back.

“What?”

I kind of laughed.

“We went to his house she said.”

“Well, that is different.” I said.  “what did you do there?”

“He made me watch a documentary on Michael Jackson.” She said.

“Oh, was it good” I asked?

“No, I didn’t want to watch it,” she said. 

“Well,  why was it so important?” I asked.

“I don’t know, mom.”

I could tell with the last “mom” she was pretty much done talking about it.  I decided to let it go and we continued home.  When we got home, it was still early in the day, but Ellie didn’t feel like doing anything.  She was interested in getting in her pajamas and lying in my bed. 

We were getting ready for a trip to Hawaii in a few days so she could watch me pack and it was perfect.  I noticed her sucking on her fingers, something she does out of anxiety or pure exhaustion.  I checked in with her to see if she was okay or if there was something she wanted to talk about and she said no and  so I suggested she go to sleep early and without saying anything, she got out of my bed and walked into hers. 

Usually there is at least some push back on the sleep thing, but none at all. 

I got her tucked in and I could see tears in her eyes.  I asked what was wrong and she told me that her privates hurt.  Okay.  I asked if they hurt on the inside or the outside and she said the inside.  And at this point she was crying.  I asked if I could take a look and see anything.  I thought maybe there was a rash or something.  It was red, but I didn’t know what was going on, so I had some Destin and I put it on there and called it good.  She got back in bed and I asked if she was okay.  She wasn’t.

What did she need? She didn’t know. 

Alright… well, I thought… hopefully this will help soon.

My room is directly across from hers and I was packing suitcases so I was pretty nearby.  She got up 3 times in tears in the next 30 minutes from the pain in her privates.  At this point my mind started to go places that I wished it would never have to go.  My stomach was in knots.  My ability to focus was completely gone. 

I rocked her to sleep that night, as she cried from pain and I silently cried from the possibility of my mother’s intuition being all too real. 

I am not a great sleeper to begin with, but you add stress to the mix and forget about it.  I was up all night in a whole different land of “what-ifs.”  Sure you can tell me that worry doesn’t get me anywhere and believe me that my brain totally understands it.  Sadly, my heart just doesn’t follow suit.  I am sure that this whole experience has taken off several years of my life because of the worry and the damage it has done to me.  I’ve coped the best that I know how.  And I think it is easy for others's to say, “I would be this way.” Or “I would not worry until I knew for sure.” To those people I say…  I’d love to see it.  ;-)

The next morning I decided I was not going to bring it up unless she did.   Things in the morning seemed status quo.  It was Sunday.  We were lazy, as Sundays typically are around here and we didn’t do much of anything.  She was pretty quiet, but that also isn't much different from a Sunday after being with DP. 

Then my world changed.

“Mommy, my privates hurt really bad.”

“Ugh, still?”

This happened at about 3pm.  I swear that I remember as if it were yesterday. 

“Yes,” she said, almost sheepishly.

I asked the question, not really wanting to know the answer, “do you know why they hurt?”

“No,” she said.

Ton of bricks off my shoulders. 

“Okay,” I said, “let’s take another look and see if I see anything, okay?”

“Okay” she said.

As we walked downstairs, Ellie stopped. 

“Mom, I do know why they hurt.  They hurt because of my daddy.”