On my "daughter" Gisaury

I don't like children. When my brother had friends over when we were younger, I looked for any excuse to leave the house. Babies make me cringe and I don't have patience to teach the alphabet. All that changed with Gisaury.

The first child I have ever truly loved beside my much younger biological brother, is Gisaury, my five-year-old neighbor. I don’t remember the first time we met or what event was the glue that sealed our fate, but six months after arriving, if she wasn't right beside me, running errands with me, on the back of my bike pedaling through town, helping me do laundry or coloring in my house, everyone asked me where my shadow was. One year and ten months later, they ask me where my daughter is.*

Gisaury lives with her paternal grandma, Nena. Nena is a wonderful woman, but has health problems and can’t keep up with the needs of her grandkids. Gisaury's 30-year-old father sleeps in the house but that's about the only time she sees him, for fifteen minutes at night. Gisaury's aunt Ada also lives in the house, but she's mostly concerned with the well-being of her own daughter, 4-year-old Haydee. Haydee is much cuter than Gisaury and has a bright, loud, sassy and magnetic personality. Haydee dances on queue, dresses in bright colors and never stops talking - all things generally respected and sought-after in Dominican culture. Gisaury on the other hand is quieter, struggles in school, bossy (err, I mean, has executive leadership skills?), and is tragically starved for love and attention. Gisaury’s 19-year-old mother (14 when she gave birth) recently eloped to the capital with some businessman she met on the internet. Gisel rarely sees her daughters (the other daughter lives with her maternal grandma in another part of town) and is very much absent from the lives of her daughters - both her daughters are being raised by their grandmothers. I guess I understand this because she is essentially a child herself. Gisaury’s life resembles the plot line of Cinderella or another similarly tragic tale. 

It would be wrong of me to say that I’ve adopted her, but I have taken an active interest in her life, reading to her, teaching her the colors, to count and to do well in school. When Nena let her stay home from school for a week because she had a rash and didn’t want her walking in the sun, I convinced Nena to buy an umbrella and send her to school. I brush her hair, paint her nails and let her sit in my lap even though its 95 degrees. I introduce her as mi'ja (my daughter) to the confused looks of townsfolk who aren't sure if I'm telling the truth. "She might as well be," I say to them, "I take her everywhere I go."  

I’m not the perfect substitute, nor do I actually know anything about being a mother, but if the love I feel for her is even a fraction of what a mother feels for a daughter, I have only now come to realize what a very powerful and beautiful bond it is. Gisaury truly does feel like a part of me. I sometimes do mental exercises and entertain the thought of how even just by reading to her, hugging her or calling her my daughter, I do a better job of parenting than her own mother does (not to mention I'm four years older than her own mother). It crushes me, the weight of the knowledge that she will never be loved as I was by my own mother, that her mom isn’t there to teach her to read, dress up in dresses, or throw her birthday parties. She didn't get a birthday party last year because she was sick, but also because no one had planned anything. And they have already been planning Haydee's birthday in July while nothing has been said about Gisuary’s on June 24th. 

So what would any mother looking to outdo any other mother in the birthday party department do? Plan a blowout! I am currently planning her sixth birthday party, Little Mermaid themed, to be held on the beach. With the wonderful execution skills of my scheming American mother, we're going to throw Gisaury a birthday bash. Taina expedited the party supplies from an American dollar store to friends heading down next week, and with a little help from Amazon prime, I’ll have Ariel invitations and wall decorations here by next week. Apart from that, I’ll order a cake, pop some popcorn, throw some candies in a bag and blow up balloons for 20 neighborhood children. It’s simple, but she deserves it. She's the one that has changed my entire outlook on children, shown me a love more powerful than I’ve ever known, and assured me that I am meant to be exactly where I am. June 24th is her day and I will make sure she knows it!

_____

* In Dominican culture, most people have 3-4 madrinas/padrinos (godparents) and every time they see them (aka first thing in the morning, after a long trip, when getting back from the grocery store), or an aunt, mother or father, it is custom to say “Cion madrina” which is a request for a blessing. The mother/father, godparent, uncle/aunt will say “God bless you.” It’s the sign of a truly special and deep bond reserved for close relationships. The other day, when I got home, Gisaury ran to me and for the first time she said “Cion mami.” It was one my proudest, most heartbreaking (in that she calls me mother because hers is so largely absent), and precious (that I can make an impact on someone so tiny and young) moments here.