About Me — Adrienne Daniels
How I Became an Avid Spiritual Tourist With No Return Ticket Ch 2
Read Ch 1 here.
A New Life, Baby Boy, 1972
In a family of boys, being the only girl had its rewards, some of which were the occasional special treatment and doting. While my brothers were busy roughhousing — like jumping out of trees and setting up bike ramps, I had the chance to explore the arts. I was whisked off to piano lessons, ballet, and even tap dancing — a trio of refined activities that gave me a certain air of sophistication. I felt like the princess of the household, even if I was a princess who felt, on occasion, an extreme case of loneliness.
One of the highlights of my early childhood was performing in various recitals. My best friend and I once took the stage in an ensemble known as the BlueJays, a group of twenty or so tiny dancers dressed in blue costumes, twirling, tapping, and flapping across a huge stage. The vast sea of encouraging parents in the audience made us feel like celebrities, even though our choreography wasn’t exactly on the caliber of Broadway. But the real excitement for me was when I was given piano lessons from our church pianist, Mrs. Johnson. I loved playing the piano, especially a favorite hymn of mine called “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” I practiced it tirelessly, my little fingers traversing across the keys with all the intensity of an emerging young maestro. Every year at our church’s music recital, I’d proudly play that tune, feeling a deep connection to the melody and the message.
When I was five, I honestly believed that my request for a little sister was finally going to be answered. I’d been pleading with my mother, convinced that she had the ultimate power to grant me this wish. After all, moms could do anything, right? She’d laugh and try to explain that the gender of the baby wasn’t exactly within her control, a concept that baffled my five-year-old logic. In my mind, moms were the ultimate decision-makers, capable of granting any request, from a second helping of dessert to, surely, the choice of a sibling’s gender.
The night my mom was set to give birth was nothing short of a grand family celebration since it fell on the same day as her mother’s 53rd birthday. The phone rang, and Grandma, then separated from my grandfather and the clan’s matriarch, gracefully exited her spacious kitchen to answer it. All twelve of us grandkids were crammed into her house that day, turning it into a scene straight out of a chaotic sitcom. While the boys engaged in their usual roughhousing antics between the back porch and backyard, we girls stayed inside, helping Grandma whip up sweets in honor of the special day. Well, they helped — my job, mostly as one of the smallest, was to scoop the batter and, most importantly, lick the bowls clean.
Suddenly, Grandma’s conversation on the phone took an urgent turn. She abruptly shouted my name, her voice cutting through the noise like a referee at a soccer match. I dashed into the room, heart racing, to find her holding out the phone with a look of concern. “It’s your mother,” she said, handing me the receiver with all the gravity of someone passing on a royal decree. My little hands trembled as I lifted the receiver to my ear, anticipation and excitement bubbling inside me.
“Hello,” I squeaked, my voice a mix of nerves and hope.
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“Hi, sweetie,” Mama’s voice came through, sounding a bit exhausted but elated. “You have a baby bro — “ Before she could finish the sentence, I dropped the phone, my dreams of a sister shattering instantly. Tears welled up in my eyes and I started sobbing inconsolably. How could this happen? I had made it very clear that I wanted a sister, not another boring brother. It felt like the universe had hurt me for no reason.
My parents came home the next evening with a squirming bundle of noise wrapped in a blanket but instead of welcoming them home, I went to my room, still feeling somewhat salty, unable to face the new reality. As time passed, though, curiosity got the best of me, so I tiptoed to my parents’ bedroom where the newest family member lay in his crib.
Sneaking a peek at him between the bars, I saw my baby brother’s beautiful face for the first time. He was amazing, with a tiny body, smooth, light caramel-colored skin, and the most dainty little hands and feet I had ever seen. He looked so peaceful, sleeping there soundly in his crib. Instantly my anger melted away and was replaced by a warm, protective feeling I hadn’t expected to feel.
Mama, perceptive as always, sensed my curiosity and change of heart, quietly entered the room and seeing me peering into the crib, asked, “Wanna hold him?” I nodded silently, my eyes still locked on the little human before me. She motioned for me to sit in her chair and then gently placed him in my arms. As I held him close to my chest, all thoughts of anger, disappointment, and betrayal just slowly slipped away. He smelled of that sweet, calming fragrance that newborns always have, and as I held him tightly in my arms I felt in that instant an overwhelming love for this tiny being.
Even though he wasn’t at all the sister I wanted, none of that really mattered at that moment. He was my new baby brother, and already I knew that I loved him without a doubt. The universe might have given me another brother but I felt I was also given a new best friend, which was more than enough for me.
A New Death, Grandma, 1973
Little BJ’s first birthday celebration was supposed to be a happy one, but it felt more like a cruel joke to me. While everyone sang “Happy Birthday”, I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow the universe had made a crappy trade-off. It was as if Grandma had to leave just so that BJ could be here — like the world was just too tiny to allow both of their souls to occupy the same space at the same time.
As everyone continued to celebrate, I began to fixate on the terrible memory of Grandma lying in her coffin and then being lowered into the cold, dark ground. It was too heartbreaking to think of her all alone in that place. The laughter and cake felt so completely out of place, like a party that had no right to be happening. I honestly couldn’t understand how everyone else seemed okay, carrying on with the festivities as if nothing at all had changed.
Unable to control my emotions, I ran to my room and hid my face in my pillow. I wanted to cry but the tears just wouldn’t come; I was too angry and too confused by the suddenness of her unexpected death. It was Grandma’s birthday, too, and she was supposed to be here sharing this special day, not gone forever. My mom came in and sat down quietly beside me, her hand gently caressing my back. She didn’t say a word and she didn’t need to. Her silence conveyed it all, and I knew then that she was hurting just as much as I was.
I sat up and hugged my mom tightly, feeling the shared suffering in our silent embrace. It was a moment that told me I wasn’t alone in missing Grandma, and that she felt the loss of Grandma as deeply as I did. Even though the day was supposed to be a celebration, it was also a reminder of what we had lost.
Be on the lookout for Chapter 3 About Me, and again, thank you for reading.
