Skip to main content

Two Dads and a Donor

 Our egg donor died. She was in traffic, and she took a left turn, and a truck crashed into her. 


We had met her only once, via Zoom. She was a graduate student, working on sea turtles; my husband and I are obsessed with the animal kingdom, so we liked the turtle angle. In the middle of the Zoom call, E-- produced a "sea turtle head," like a Wisconsin cheese head, and she wore it for several minutes.

It was sad, and strange, to find out via Google that the car accident had occurred. I can't say I'm in mourning for E--, because I didn't know her. But there was one version of the future in which my kids would hang out with E-- and we'd all learn about each other--and that version of the future doesn't exist anymore.

It's important to me to be a straight-shooter with the kids, so I simply told them that this one particular person had died. Afterward, my husband said, "I'm not sure Susie knows what death means."

A fair point, and I'd just say this. Don't look to the musical "Les Miserables" for any "real talk" about death. One reason that show irritates me is that every discussion of death becomes sort of goopy and celestial. "Read it well, when I at last am sleeping." "Please stay till I am sleeping." "I will stay with you until you are sleeping, and rain will make the flowers grow." What the fuck are these people talking about?

I think a better discussion of death happens in "Kimberly Akimbo":

We're on a great adventure. 
You never know--and nor do I--
When we will have to say goodbye--
So just enjoy the time.
Because no one gets a second time--
No one gets a second time--
No one gets a second time around.

That's what I would say to Susie. E-- paid her way through school; presumably, she saved egg-donor money to fund her education. She used her time to work not just with turtles, but also with gibbons, orangutans, and bees. She traveled the world. I remember, once, we had "timeline" issues, because of her trip to Honduras, and her possible encounter with "the Zika virus."

That's my tribute to a person who remains mysterious to me. I'm grateful.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...