Chapter Fifty
Maddy heard her mom calling from downstairs. “Do you want to go for a walk? Along the canal?”
She was going to say no—walks were boring, and she was busy watching a video on YouTube—but then she changed her mind. Sure, why not?
She hollered, “Okay, if I can bring Tucker.” She grabbed a sweatshirt from the pile beside her bed and pulled it over her head.
Downstairs, Mom had her coat on and was digging in the hall closet. “Here,” she said, holding out the toque and mitts that Maddy had last worn a week ago. Maddy smiled and held them to her chest. She’d missed them.
She slipped into her own jacket and called Tucker into the hall. She attached his leash and followed her mom out the door.
Outside, it was a cool day but not windy, and the sun was shining. Mom locked the door behind them, and they headed toward the park. The trees were bare now, and without leaves the branches formed cool patterns against the sky. The two of them cut diagonally through the park, their feet scuffing on the leaves still underfoot. They checked for traffic and waited for two cars to pass before crossing to the pedestrian pathway along the canal.
Turning south, they walked side by side, not speaking. The paved path was just wide enough for two people. Other than one woman walking her dog, they had the path to themselves.
They weren’t talking, but Maddy was comfortable in the silence. It felt great to be walking in the crisp cold air, the afternoon sun reflecting on the dark water of the canal. Walking with her mom, the two of them striding along together, felt good too. Better than she’d felt in a long time.
****
When I invited Maddy on this walk, I’d hoped for a conversation that would get us on a new track. But I didn’t know how to start.
I knew I needed to loosen up with her. And I remembered the Gibran poem that Bob had recited a line from, days ago. The one that said “your children are not your children.”
I thought I understood now what it meant. There’s a difference between belonging and owning. I could do my best to guide her and protect her, but ultimately I couldn’t live her life for her.
Her destiny had to be her own, not something shaped to meet my needs.
Walking beside my daughter, I reached deep. If I said the words out loud, maybe I could mean them. “Maddy, I want to talk about how things are going to be.”
She turned to me, a wary expression on her face.
“You’ll be a teenager soon, and you’ll come across a lot of new situations and ideas. I’ll do my best to help, but sometimes you’ll have to figure things out on your own.”
I took a breath. “You’ll have to be patient—this is new for me. I’ve never been the mother of a teenager before. I’m used to making all the decisions for our family. But now that you’re growing up, we’ll need to discuss things more, and you’ll be deciding things more and more on your own.”
There. I let out my breath. The look in Maddy’s eyes was worth it. We could make this work.