Read Online Off Balance: A Memoir by Dominique Moceanu - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dominique Moceanu
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and Tata didn’t give me away, after all. I was angry and resentful already; why wouldn’t she be? There were so many layers to this story, I didn’t know where to start or how. My own hurt and anger kept me from picking up the phone that afternoon. I wasn’t ready to hear her voice and have no place to hide if I couldn’t answer her questions.
I decided on a letter—a happy medium of sorts. I’d be reaching out to let Jennifer know that I received her package, but I’d maintain a bit of space, a buffer, so I didn’t have to bare my soul completely just yet. The letter got my message across loud and clear: I believe you, Jennifer. I also told her that I looked forward to talking with her, but it would have to wait. For now, my obligation was a healthy delivery for Carmen. Along with the letter, I sent a bouquet of flowers.
A sense of relief washed over me once I mailed the letter. It was much more difficult to write than I’d expected. I was an emotional mess and could barely see the computer screen through my tears. I was confused and angry. I couldn’t process the deep hurt I felt that Mama and Tata had kept this secret for twenty years. It took all of my strength to stop my tears for any length of time. I found myself crying most of the day, every day, for the following weeks. I literally had to will myself to school to complete my final exams. I remember looking around thinking how none of my classmates or professors had the slightest clue what was happening in my life, and I wondered if they were going through difficult times in their own lives. So strange how you can feel like you know people, yet so much remains hidden. We talked, exchanged pleasantries, and discussed the course material, but I never let them in on my little secret and I never learned any of theirs. I’d wondered how my few good girlfriends in my classes would have reacted had I shared my story, but it wouldn’t have been fair todistract them with my own family drama right before their final exams anyway.
I’ll never forget my husband Mike’s face when he walked through the door after work and saw the photos of Jennifer for the first time. He did one of those double takes you see in the silent movies. He looked as shocked as I’ve ever seen him. Mike has seen and heard his share of interesting stories and, as a surgeon, has met people from all walks of life, so he takes most things in stride and is not shocked by much. The photos, more than anything else, threw him for a loop. I practically gasped on the phone earlier that day when I tried to describe how Jennifer looked spookishly like my younger sister Christina. Jennifer and I definitely have a very strong resemblance, but she and Christina looked almost like twins. Like Christina and myself, Jennifer strongly resembled Tata’s side of the family, but after a closer look, I realized that Jennifer looked more like my father than any of us—it was unreal. It was difficult to get my head around the fact that someone else in this universe could look so much like us. The round face, straight dark hair, big brown eyes, pronounced chin—she was 100 percent Moceanu.
With final exams over and my official to-do list almost clear, the plan was to rest and wait for Carmen’s arrival. It proved valuable space for me to regroup. I couldn’t help obsessing about how difficult it must have been for my parents when Jennifer was born. Rubbing my belly and feeling the warmth of Carmen inside me, I felt sadness and even pity for Mama and Tata, feeling they had no choice but to give away their own flesh and blood. I could almost understand that that time was just too painful, so they coped by pretending it never happened.
Christmas Eve 2007, I lay in bed with my eyes wide open while the house slept soundly: Christina on the couch, Mike’s parents in our guest bedroom, and Mike beside me. We were all gathered to celebrate the holidays and await Carmen’s birth. I had a hunchthat my little
I decided on a letter—a happy medium of sorts. I’d be reaching out to let Jennifer know that I received her package, but I’d maintain a bit of space, a buffer, so I didn’t have to bare my soul completely just yet. The letter got my message across loud and clear: I believe you, Jennifer. I also told her that I looked forward to talking with her, but it would have to wait. For now, my obligation was a healthy delivery for Carmen. Along with the letter, I sent a bouquet of flowers.
A sense of relief washed over me once I mailed the letter. It was much more difficult to write than I’d expected. I was an emotional mess and could barely see the computer screen through my tears. I was confused and angry. I couldn’t process the deep hurt I felt that Mama and Tata had kept this secret for twenty years. It took all of my strength to stop my tears for any length of time. I found myself crying most of the day, every day, for the following weeks. I literally had to will myself to school to complete my final exams. I remember looking around thinking how none of my classmates or professors had the slightest clue what was happening in my life, and I wondered if they were going through difficult times in their own lives. So strange how you can feel like you know people, yet so much remains hidden. We talked, exchanged pleasantries, and discussed the course material, but I never let them in on my little secret and I never learned any of theirs. I’d wondered how my few good girlfriends in my classes would have reacted had I shared my story, but it wouldn’t have been fair todistract them with my own family drama right before their final exams anyway.
I’ll never forget my husband Mike’s face when he walked through the door after work and saw the photos of Jennifer for the first time. He did one of those double takes you see in the silent movies. He looked as shocked as I’ve ever seen him. Mike has seen and heard his share of interesting stories and, as a surgeon, has met people from all walks of life, so he takes most things in stride and is not shocked by much. The photos, more than anything else, threw him for a loop. I practically gasped on the phone earlier that day when I tried to describe how Jennifer looked spookishly like my younger sister Christina. Jennifer and I definitely have a very strong resemblance, but she and Christina looked almost like twins. Like Christina and myself, Jennifer strongly resembled Tata’s side of the family, but after a closer look, I realized that Jennifer looked more like my father than any of us—it was unreal. It was difficult to get my head around the fact that someone else in this universe could look so much like us. The round face, straight dark hair, big brown eyes, pronounced chin—she was 100 percent Moceanu.
With final exams over and my official to-do list almost clear, the plan was to rest and wait for Carmen’s arrival. It proved valuable space for me to regroup. I couldn’t help obsessing about how difficult it must have been for my parents when Jennifer was born. Rubbing my belly and feeling the warmth of Carmen inside me, I felt sadness and even pity for Mama and Tata, feeling they had no choice but to give away their own flesh and blood. I could almost understand that that time was just too painful, so they coped by pretending it never happened.
Christmas Eve 2007, I lay in bed with my eyes wide open while the house slept soundly: Christina on the couch, Mike’s parents in our guest bedroom, and Mike beside me. We were all gathered to celebrate the holidays and await Carmen’s birth. I had a hunchthat my little
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