'Hey Miss!' I instantly turned at that familiar tone of voice. Kacey was beaming at me, hopping on the spot clearly eager to share something with me. I smiled lightly back, when I looked into her eyes I couldn't help but think about my own daughter, the one I'd seen for the first time in sixteen years after she was born, all through my own being, yesterday. 'Mum was dead chuffed about the camp; she and Baz got me these. Dyn chose the colour; she said it had to match!' she pulled a pair of brand new boxing gloves out of her drawstring bag. 'Reckon I'll make it ok out there?' She asked suddenly sounding not as confident. 'You've got us all behind you. It's about the dedication, look how far you've come.' I remind her tapping her shoulder playfully bringing back that glint in her eye. 'Yeah thanks Miss.' She gave me a hug, not knowing what to do, not wanting to disappoint I pat her shoulder gently before releasing. 'Look sorry about Eve, it's a real shame.' She seemed genuinely sorry, I bit my lip. 'I…..I've got to go.' I push past to get ready for the day ahead.
I empty the marking on my desk, before pulling a well preserved photo, crinkly and worn but still intact photo; one that was all too familiar to me. It was a photo of a time that I wanted to get away from, but at the moment had been replaying in my mind over and over and I couldn't understand what it meant. It was a photo of half of me, living, with my blood running through her veins. A small baby, that I had housed and birthed but didn't raise. My daughter Eve. I was young and stupid and vulnerable, a pregnant woman with hormones that meant I clearly didn't know what I wanted. But I also had experiences and knew exactly what it felt like to be in Eve's position. I remember the day when I saw my mother for the last time; she called me upstairs. Upon going upstairs, she caught me retracing the steps to the unknown. After she'd left I found myself for months and years after sitting on the stairs from when she saw me. She led me into her bedroom that she shared with my father. As a young child your parents room visualised security, safety and smelt of warmth and tasted of hope and desire. She had clasped me against her chest; I could hear her heart pounding frantically. She let out a sigh of relief, something I couldn't understand until I had Eve; the kind of pain she must have been feeling was out of this world.
That was the last time I saw her face, the last time in over sixteen years, longer than Eve's entire lifetime. My father had deteriorated rapidly by my late teens and died the year I found Stewart. I had moved on rapidly, I guess wanting someone to love me in the way I loved them. Sometimes I still visited his grave, wishing he could help me choose my next move, wishing and praying he could answer, stand beside me still. I wipe away at the corner of my eye, my cheek where I say a bit of dust had entered my iris before grasping a piece of paper and a pen in my hand.
It is cliché to write a poem or a piece of writing about your daughter, like you wrote; you are all I think about. I wish sorry was one of those words that could do it this time and I wish I could explain to you what I want. I went away, like my mum difference was I left you with a plan, a plan to grow up with your dad who wanted you. My father paused and weeks turned to mere years. I should have been there as a mum to wipe your tears, read your stories by the Bronte sisters and tuck you into bed. Make you better when you're ill and worry about which is the best school, the right foods, all those things a mother does. I should have showed up for your birthdays or at least sent a card.I don't understand a thing about you, how smart you are with your report card of A's. I really should being a teacher but that doesn't mean I know right. I was young, I was stupid, I didn't want a child, but when I saw you I realised what I was missing out well what I missed out on. Thing is if I could turn back time I would, what would you care. Please let me be the mum I always wished I had, can we start again?
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