My Daughter Passed Away Giving Birth, and I Raised Her Son Alone
I raised my grandson for ten years under the impression that his father had abandoned him.
Then a woman from my daughter’s past made me reevaluate all I had thought about those last few months. Not only did what I discovered alter my memory of my daughter, but it also altered the future I had created for her son.
“I made your daughter a promise. Now it’s time you knew the truth.”
Standing next to Teagan’s grave, the woman extended a sealed package.
Across the front was my name.
is the handwriting of my daughter.
I lost the ability to breathe.
“I made your daughter a promise.”
Ten years had passed since Teagan’s death.
“Where did you get that?”
“She gave it to me.”
“When?”
“The day her baby was born.”
I clenched my fingers around the roses I was holding.
“Where did you get that?”
“You’ve had a letter from my daughter for ten years?”
The woman’s gaze dropped.
“Yes.”
Lucas yelled from the bottom of the slope before I could respond.
“Grandma! I found it!”
“You’ve had a letter from my daughter for ten years?”
Waving the birthday card he had created for his mother, my grandson was sprinting back from
the automobile.
The woman turned to face him.
“Don’t open this in front of him.”
I gazed at her.
“Who are you?”
“Don’t open this in front of him.”
“My name is Trudy.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“I knew Teagan at the hospital. I was her nurse.”
My gut churned.
Lucas was drawing nearer.
“My name is Trudy.”
The envelope was thrust into my palm by Trudy.
“My number’s on the back.”
Then she turned to leave.
When Teagan told me she was expecting, she was eighteen.
More times than I could remember, I inquired about the father.
“My number’s on the back.”
“Does he know?”
“Mom, please.”
“What’s his name?”
“I can handle this myself.”
“You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
“Please stop making this harder.”
“Mom, please.”
We kept going back and forth until our conversations just made matters worse.
Then, on the day Lucas was delivered, a physician entered the waiting area and took a seat next to me.
“I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.”
I gazed at him.
“The baby?”
“I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.”
“He’s alive. He’s going to need you.”
My daughter never returned home.
My grandson did.
It was just the two of us for ten years.
Lucas developed into a kind, inquisitive child who enjoyed Sunday pancakes, baseball, and one
question I was unable to respond to.
“He’s alive. He’s going to need you.”
“Grandma, who was my dad?”
“I don’t know.”
Teagan’s letter was now in my coat pocket.
I was worried that the response could be worse for the first time.
I put the envelope in the kitchen drawer when I got home.
Lucas left his backpack next to the table.
“Grandma, who was my dad?”
“Who was that lady?”
“Someone who knew your mom.”
His expression brightened.
“Really? What did she say?”
“Not much.”
“Did she know my dad?”
“Someone who knew your mom.”
I shut the drawer too soon.
“I don’t know.”
Lucas observed me.
“You always say that.”
“Because this is something I just don’t know, my love.”
He became silent.
“You always say that.”
Teagan also made the move. I detested seeing that in him.
I stood at the counter holding the envelope after he had gone to bed.
I opened it after that.
A picture came out.
Teagan was standing next to a boy in his teens.
I detested seeing that in him.
He was quiet and courteous, and I knew him. During Teagan’s pregnancy, he had visited our home twice, but I had hardly talked to him.
He had a battered baseball glove tucked under his arm.
I opened the letter.
“Mom,
I am aware that you believe I won’t tell you because I don’t trust you.
That’s not the reason.
He is aware of the infant.
He had a battered baseball glove tucked under his arm.
I put down my book.
My hands began to tremble.
“He wanted to stay, but that’s not the same as being prepared for something.
I told him not to return because he’s afraid of failing his family, but if he does, I need it to be
because he picked us.” His family constantly reminding him that this will ruin everything he had planned.
Then I heard the words that made me feel something.
I put down my book.
“You kept asking me who he was, but you never asked why I was scared.”
I turned the page down.
One recollection surfaced.
Late one evening, Teagan had entered the kitchen.
“Mom, can I ask you something?”
I had remained seated at the table.
“Mom, can I ask you something?”
“If this is about avoiding the father question again, I can’t do this tonight, Tee,” I responded.
After a few moments of standing there, she murmured, “Never mind.”
I had remembered that as Teagan excluding me for 10 years.
I wasn’t so sure now.
I picked up my phone and gave Trudy a call.
That reminded me of Teagan cutting me off.
On the fourth ring, she answered.
“You had this for ten years.”
“I know.”
“Don’t say that to me like it’s perfectly fine.”
She became silent.
“Meet me,” I said.
“You had this for ten years.”
In a booth close to the rear of a tiny diner, Trudy was waiting.
I positioned the picture between us.
“You took care of Teagan?”
“For part of that day.”
“Then why did she give you the letter?”
“You took care of Teagan?”
“She was scared. She didn’t think she was going to die, Elizabeth. She was eighteen and about to give birth.”
That was important. Teagan had not foreseen her demise. She had just been afraid.
My girl.
Trudy went on.
“She told me if something went wrong and he didn’t come, I should give the letter to you.”
Teagan had not foreseen her demise.
I gave the picture a tap.
“Is this him?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Then what do you know?”
Trudy took a swallow.
“He came.”
“I don’t know his name.”
I froze.
“What?”
“After Teagan died, I saw a young man near the maternity floor asking for her.”
“You spoke to him?”
“No. I didn’t realize who he was until I looked at him properly. He matched Teagan’s description.”
My heart began to race.
“You spoke to him?”
“When I realized who he might be, he saw you.”
“Doing what?”
“Leaving with Lucas.”
“And?”
“He left.”
“You watched him walk away?”
“When I realized who he might be, he saw you.”
“Yes.”
“And then you kept my daughter’s letter?”
Her eyes were full with tears.
“I told myself you had enough grief.”
“You decided that for me.”
“Yes.”
“I told myself you had enough grief.”
“You decided it for my grandson.”
“Yes.”
My rage chilled.
“So why now?”
Trudy cast a downward glance.
“I retired months ago. Once I stopped telling myself I was still protecting a patient, I had to admit I was protecting myself.”
“So why now?”
I got up.
“Ten years is a long time to hide behind one bad decision.”
Before she could say anything further, I walked away.
I took Teagan’s old storage box out of my closet the following afternoon.
It had been years since I had opened it.
There were pictures, school programs, and the inexpensive silver bracelet she wore all the time.
“Ten years is a long time to hide behind one bad decision.”
Then I came across another picture of the same youngster.
The same glove.
There was a ripped notebook page underneath it.
Purchase diapers.
Complete thank-you notes.
Inquire about nite classes with Mom.
Inform Mom.
Inform Mom.
She had intended to. There would be time, she believed.
The same glove.
“Grandma?”
Lucas was in the doorway.
He sat next to me after noticing the open package.
“Is that Mom’s stuff?”
“Yes.”
I gave him a picture from school.
“Grandma?”
He grinned.
“I look like her.”
“You have her eyebrows. And her nose.”
Then he saw the picture of the youngster.
“Who’s that?”
“Nobody.”
“You have her eyebrows. And her nose.”
The response arrived too quickly.
Lucas scowled.
“Then why did Mom keep his picture?”
“That lady told you something, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“About my dad?”
“Then why did Mom keep his picture?”
“I’m trying to understand it first. When I do, I’ll tell you.”
“You always tell me not to hide stuff because I’m scared.”
“I do.”
“So are you hiding stuff?”
“Yes.”
He took another look at the picture.
“So are you hiding stuff?”
“I need a little time,” I replied. “But I won’t leave you wondering forever.”
He gave a nod.
Not with joy.
However, he gave a nod.
I now had no justification for doing nothing.
“But I won’t leave you wondering forever.”
His initial name appeared beneath an old class photo in the program. I eventually located him after a few incorrect profiles.
One message was sent by me.
“My name is Elizabeth. I’m Teagan’s mother. I need to speak with you.”
Two hours later, he responded.
“Lucas?”
Just one word.
He was familiar with the name.
“I’m Teagan’s mother. I need to speak with you.”
The following morning, we got together.
As he had done at my kitchen table 10 years ago, he was already sitting and making tiny circles with his coffee cup.
“You knew his name,” I replied.
“Teagan told me.”
“Then you knew about him.”
“Teagan told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come?”
“I did.”
I gazed at him.
“I came to the hospital.”
Trudy’s remarks came back quickly.
“Why didn’t you come?”
“You were there.”
He gave a nod.
“My parents wanted me to stay away. They thought a baby would ruin everything I’d planned.”
“And what did you think?”
“I was scared. I loved Teagan, but I let everybody else tell me what my life should be.”
“That explains eighteen, not ten years.”
“You were there.”
He cast a downward glance.
“Teagan told me not to come back until I was willing to choose for myself. I finally did.”
“After she died.”
“I didn’t know she was dead when I left home.”
“But you found out at the hospital?”
“I didn’t know she was dead when I left home.”
“Yes.”
“And you saw me carrying Lucas.”
He dabbed at his face.
“I panicked.”
“What about the next day?”
Quiet.
“I panicked.”
“The next week?”
He was unable to look at me.
“The next year?”
“You weren’t eighteen for ten years.”
“I kept telling myself I’d waited too long.”
“The next year?”
“And every year made that excuse easier.”
“Yes.”
I trusted him. He was not excused by it.
“Does Lucas know about me?”
“He knows his father exists.”
“Can I see him?”
“Does Lucas know about me?”
“No.”
He raised his head.
“I’m his father.”
“You are the man who fathered him. What happens next depends on what you do now.”
He took a swallow.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I’m his father.”
“Write him a letter.”
“A letter?”
“Tell him who you are. Tell him why you weren’t there. Tell him why you’re here now.”
He gave a nod.
“And don’t blame Teagan.”
“I won’t.”
“Write him a letter.”
“You don’t get credit for showing up ten years late. But you do get a chance to decide what kind of man you’re going to be now.”
An letter showed up on my porch two days later.
It had Lucas’s name written on it.
Opening something addressed to Lucas was something I detested. However, I was in charge of what came into his life when he was ten years old.
I remembered one line.
There was an envelope on my porch.
“I was scared when I was eighteen, but being scared doesn’t explain ten years.”
He placed no blame and made no requests for pardon.
I gave Trudy another call before giving it to Lucas.
“Can you meet me?”
She sounded taken aback.
“Can you meet me?”
“I thought you’d never want to see me again.”
“I didn’t say I forgave you.”
“I understand.”
“There’s something else I need.”
The following afternoon, we got together.
I was there for Teagan this time.
“I didn’t say I forgave you.”
I questioned, “Was she scared?”
Trudy’s face relaxed.
“Yes.”
“Was she alone?”
“No. People were with her the whole time.”
The response struck me more forcefully than I had anticipated.
“Was she scared?”
“Did she ask for me?”
“Yes.”
My throat constricted.
“Did she think I’d left?”
“No. She knew you were waiting nearby.”
“What did she say?”
“Did she ask for me?”
Trudy pondered for a while.
“She worried she hadn’t bought enough diapers.”
I chuckled while crying. “That sounds like her.”
“Then she talked about you.”
I raised my head.
“What about me?”
“She worried she hadn’t bought enough diapers.”
“She said you made pancakes too thick and refused to admit it.”
I let out a laugh.
Teagan could still make me look foolish.
“She wasn’t angry with you,” Trudy remarked.
“She should’ve been. I spent more time asking about Lucas’s father than asking my daughter
about her fears.”
“Maybe. But that isn’t what she gave me.”
“She wasn’t angry with you.”
I posed the query that had been bothering me for years.
“Did she know I loved her?”
Trudy didn’t think twice.
“Yes.”
That was the first thing I had received from Trudy that didn’t hurt any more.
“Did she know I loved her?”
Lucas discovered the picture on the kitchen table that nite.
“That’s him, isn’t it?”
My immediate reaction was to grab for it.
Rather, I dried my hands, shut off the faucet, and took a seat.
“Yes, my boy.”
Lucas climbed into the chair on the other side of me.
“That’s him, isn’t it?”
“Did he know about me?”
“Yes.”
“Then why wasn’t he here?”
“He was scared when he was young. He listened to his parents instead of making his own choice.”
Lucas held out.
“Did he know about me?”
“But later, he had choices of his own, and he still stayed away.”
“Did Mom want him to stay?”
“She wanted him to choose you for himself.”
“Did he?”
I made myself resist the need to soften it.
“Not when he should have.”
“Did Mom want him to stay?”
Lucas examined the picture.
“Do you hate him?”
“I did before I knew who he was.”
“And now?”
“I understand him better now. That isn’t the same as forgiving him.”
He gave a slow nod.
“I did before I knew who he was.”
“Do I have to meet him, Grandma?”
“No.”
“But can I?”
Not yet, every terrified part of me wanted to say.
Lucas and I had been sufficient for ten years.
What if we were altered by letting this man in?
“But can I?”
Then Teagan’s letter came to mind.
“You never asked why I was scared.”
I had no intention of making Lucas pay for my anxieties.
“Yes.”
A public baseball field served as the venue for the initial gathering.
Lucas made the decision.
“You never asked why I was scared.”
His dad was there already.
He had an old leather glove in his hand.
Lucas halted.
“That’s the one from the picture.”
The man cast a downward glance.
“Yeah.”
Lucas halted.
“You kept it all this time?”
“I kept more things than I had a right to.”
Lucas moved in closer.
“I’m Lucas.”
Lucas gestured to the field.
“Are you any good?”
“You kept it all this time?”
“Not really.”
“You had a glove.”
“Owning one and being good are different things.”
Lucas grinned.
They began tossing the ball, albeit clumsily at first.
A single toss went too high.
“You had a glove.”
Lucas stomped the dirt after missing it.
“Sorry,” the man apologized. “That one was mine.”
“I should’ve caught it.”
“No. I threw it badly.”
I was a few yards away.
Lucas eventually asked him a question that I was unable to hear.
“I should’ve caught it.”
Beside him, the man knelt.
Before I knew it, my body took a single stride forward.
I then came to a standstill.
Lucas gave him a look.
The man responded.
I remained in my current location.
Lucas gave him a look.
It wasn’t just one afternoon that brought him into our life.
He made one call throughout the first week.
Twice the next week.
He never showed up without being asked.
He never made an effort to get Lucas to address him.
He made one call.
And he accepted Lucas’s refusal to speak one evening.
I saw all of that.
Not because I had yet to trust him.
Because I had no intention of giving up trust just because he had finally made the decision to appear.
He would have to construct it.
I was, too.
I saw all of that.
Lucas was having Sunday pancakes at the kitchen table three weeks later.
As usual, it’s too thick.
“He wants to come to my game Saturday.”
I put the syrup down.
“Do you want him there?”
Lucas gave a nod.
“Do you want him there?”
“Yeah.”
“Then he should come.”
He looked at me.
“You won’t be mad?”
“No.”
“He’s still not my dad-dad.”
“You don’t have to decide what to call him.”
“You won’t be mad?”
Lucas returned to his pancakes.
I fixed his napkin by reaching across the table—old habits.
Then I examined the dish he had left bent next to his elbow, the crumbs, and the syrup bottle.
They were precisely where I left them.
