Portrait of the Artist as Told by Her Mother
Breana is my daughter. I remember finding out that I was pregnant with her after about five years of trying; we had finally done it. The most exciting part was waiting to find out what gender she would be. I wanted a boy so badly. My husband needed a boy from me, his actual wife. So needless to say, when I found out she would be a girl I was a little disappointed. But still extremely excited- excited because this would be my first child in 16 years and I had finally done it right. My mother was obsessed with Breana when she was born. Breana had cousins who were born 5 and 2 months before her- but this didn’t matter because everyone knew, Breana was the favorite. She was perfect and I named her so- Kamílah is her middle name meaning perfect.
As she grew, I noticed how beautiful she was. When she had a beautiful smile- even though she didn’t have dimples- her little chin pointed out turning her face into a heart shape, she had a high pitch voice that was very distinguishable. I could pull her out of a crowd. Except one day her cute heart shaped smile disappeared I kept thinking “it’ll come back, it’ll come back” except it never did. Breana was a bookworm; she loved reading books, she was always at the library. I would buy her series of books- always Christian books. One day I found that these Christian books I bought her, The Christy series, was more a love story and I took them all. This is what I’m talking about, she should know better than to fill her head with stories of teenage dating. While she was growing up she loved going to church. She wanted to be a part of every ministry possible. Throughout her life she was in the drama ministry and the choir, but I could not pull her away from being in the dance ministry. She would always talk about it as if there were just unsatisfied, but I didn’t want her using her body in that way. Sometimes those dances were too sensual.
Breana is great- except she refuses to do what I need her to do. While I was raising her, she was such a weird example for her sister. I kept telling her that getting involved with boys was not the way to go, but every time I turned around there she was with yet another boy. It was never the boy you thought a smart girl would be with. They always looked rough like they came from bad homes; it didn’t look right. And her friends? She was always friends with weird girls who didn’t have any other friends. They couldn’t sing- so they weren’t popular in church. They were rarely in ministries. I tried to forbid her from talking to these girls or these boys but that seemed to just drive them closer together.
Right now, she lives in Brooklyn and she’s a teacher. Breana barely talks to me because she doesn’t want to hear the truth about her life and that she’s going to hell if she keeps behaving the way she does. I know she doesn’t come to see me on purpose and I make her angry, but I’m her mother and I love her. I am not going to stop praying for her that she gets back on the straight and narrow and actually comes back to church. Not just any church; the church she grew up in. Whatever happened to her could not have been so bad that she can’t forgive them. That’s what is disappointing about her right now- she doesn’t know how to forgive. One day God may have to strip her of everything she has so she can return to Him- like Job. And that’ll be okay because at least at that point I would have my perfect Breana back.