I've known my step-daughter, Isabella, since she was a year and a half old. The very first time I met her, we were at Brian's house and she was too young to form an entire sentence but smart enough to get her point across. I had just walked in the door and was sitting on the couch and she brought my shoes to me, dropped them in front of me and said, "Bye bye." For the next few weeks, every time Brian would pick me up when she was already in the car she would cry and cry, clearly not wanting to share her daddy with some stranger.
Eventually she warmed up to me. And as much as I loved this kid, I always knew that no matter what, I would always be second to her. I was not her mother and never tried to be. She would never have the love and affection for me that she had for her dad, and I understood that and accepted my role as always being second.
Brian and I don't see Isabella all that often, but every time she invites us to a dance or a play she's performing in, we always try to go. Over the years I don't think we have ever missed one performance she asked us to attend. Every time we sat through to the end and it was time for Isabella to come see us after it was over, I knew the importance involved in her seeing her dad, and I felt entitled by association to tell her how proud I was of her and how beautiful she is. I couldn't imagine how proud her parents must be. Every time I see her, all I see is a shining star.
Recently she mentioned her sixth grade recognition ceremony was coming up but didn't know the exact date. Brian asked her to call and let us know when she knew the date, which she did, but unfortunately, she didn't call until two hours before the performance. When she called Brian he told her that there was no way he could make it on such short notice. Then she called me.
I had just gotten out of work and was sitting about 15 minutes from my house when she called and asked me if I could come to the ceremony. At first I wasn't quite sure why she was calling me and wondered if she hadn't been able to get a hold of Brian. I asked her if she talked to her dad and she said, yes, and he said he couldn't make it. Then she asked me if I wanted to go. I told her I would love to go. She told me to be there a little before 6:00 and her mom would meet me in the lobby with my ticket.
So I rushed home to let the dog out, grab a bite to eat and change clothes, then rushed back out to go to the ceremony. I was at the school at ten till 6 and waited for her mother to give me my ticket. Her mother never showed up, and I wasn't sure what the miscommunication was, but it made me feel a little awkward. I felt like maybe I shouldn't be there if Brian wasn't going to be there. I even thought about leaving, but instead, about a minute before the ceremony started, I explained to the person at the table with the tickets what happened and she told me to go ahead in.
I sat all the way in the back where I was sure she couldn't see me. I watched the whole thing and texted Brian about how amazing his daughter is the whole time. She was called on stage for almost every award, including the award for academic excellence, which was only given to one boy and one girl in the entire class. I listened to her solo in the Green Day song the kids sang and noticed how graceful and poised she looked, presumably from years of dance class. I even cried when they showed baby pictures of every kid in the class playing the song "You're Gonna Miss This" in the background.
When it was over, once again I felt awkward. I knew that Isabella didn't even know I was there, and I felt really weird about going to try to find her without Brian with me. They announced that the kids would have five minutes with their parents and then they were going to a party they set up for the kids. I knew there was no way I was going to see her in those five minutes, so as everyone stood all around me hugging and talking to their kids, I sat in the back row, digging my keys out of my purse, telling myself that I would just text or call Isabella and let her know I was there.
Except when I looked up from getting my keys, she was standing there. How did she even know I was there? She hugged me and thanked me for coming, then asked if I heard her solo in the Green Day song. I told her how proud I was, how I was texting her dad the whole time and how sorry he was that he couldn't be there. I took a picture of her and thanked her for inviting me, asking her to come see us sometime soon. On my way out the door, she said, "I love you, Kelly." I said, "I love you too. See you soon."
As I walked back to my car, tears welled up in my eyes. I drove a few blocks trying to stop crying before I called Brian. The little girl completely overwhelmed me that night. All these years, I really thought I was nobody to her. And then I realized I was somebody. Not just her dad's other half. Not just someone she sees incidentally when she visits with her dad. I myself am someone she cares about.
How could I go 12 years without knowing that? And how many other people have I treated carelessly just because I don't realize that I really do mean something to them?
It's a process, but I'm trying to learn to treat people like they really matter. Because the truth is that they do.
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