The Lost Daughter: A Memoir

by Mary Williams

  After hugs and kisses we settle into our seats clasping hands. For the next few hours we hear the stories of girls from around the world. Girls who have been silenced, raped, abandoned, excluded, forgotten and, by the end, awakened, made whole, validated and imbued with the power to shake the world. Jane cries through most of it but as she’ll tell you herself, “A Fonda will cry at a good steak.” I see myself, Tasha, Mama and even Jane in these stories. It’s too much right now and I shut down so as not to blow a fuse in my emotional motherboard.

  After the play we catch up on the family. My sister Vanessa had sent her kids to Chicago to visit with Troy and his wife, Simone, and Jane had joined them. I smile to see Jane so happy as she tells me how proud she is of her grandchildren. She asks how I’m doing and I tell her about being emotionally overwhelmed and conflicted. One moment I love my birth mother, the next I’m full of rage. We talk of the meeting tomorrow and I can see Jane is nervous. All I can do is pray for the best.

  The night before the meeting, I call Mama to make sure she will be ready for the chauffeured car that will pick her up at 10:30 A.M. I also remind her that we will be taking photos, so she should wear a nice outfit. She assures me she will be ready. She asks me what she should wear and we discuss several of the outfits I bought for her. I tell her she should wear the fuchsia top with the black slacks and her ballerina flats. She dismisses that suggestion and asks if she should wear a print blouse instead. Exasperated, I tell her to wear whatever makes her comfortable. She is quiet for a while then says, “Lawanna, I don’t know nothing about fashion. I think you should come over and help me pick an outfit.” It’s ten o’clock at night and I’m not about to get out of bed for this and I tell her so. By the end of the conversation, I’ve convinced her she will look beautiful no matter what she wears and she allows me to finally hang up.

  The next morning the photographer and I meet Jane in her suite an hour before Mama is to arrive. She isn’t quite ready, so we leave him to set up in the living room. Jane is busy getting dressed and packing; she will fly out after our lunch with Mama. I woke up late and neglected to eat breakfast. Somehow Jane senses this and encourages me to eat what’s left of her breakfast: a bowl of fresh blackberries. There is also a bowl of fruit in the living room she won’t be able to eat and she tells me to put it in a paper bag for Mama to take with her. She goes to the bathroom to put on her makeup and emerges with a pair of antique earrings. “I never wear these. Take them,” she says, and folds them into my hand. Her nerves are showing and it makes me nervous too. Especially since I dreamed Mama wouldn’t show.

  Right on time the concierge calls to say that Mama has been dropped off and is waiting in the hotel lobby. The photographer wants to get a few shots of Jane and me alone and suggests I get Mama after we shoot. Jane insists I go down and bring her up immediately. I do as she says. When I get off the elevator, I see Mama calmly reading the morning paper. I greet her with a kiss and notice she has decided to wear the print top after all. I ask her how the ride was. She tells me she told all her friends that a chauffeured car was coming for her, and they were all outside waiting when it pulled up to get her. She chuckles at the thought. I wheel her onto the elevator while she tells me that she asked Teresa to come over to help her pick just the right outfit.

  When we get to the suite, Jane greets her with a kiss on the cheek and beams down at her for a few seconds before bursting into tears. I knew she’d cry. She tells Mama what a great kid I am and how proud she should be of me. Mama asks her why she’s crying and Jane says, “I thought you’d be mad at me for taking her away!” “Oh, no!” Mama says, “I think it was a good thing that you did.” “Really?” Jane asks. “Yeah!” Mama says. They hug. With that out of the way, they move right along and quickly find something to talk about that they are both familiar with: ailments. Jane talks about a recent back surgery and Mama tries to trump her with her COPD, asthma and high blood pressure. Jane asks if she has diabetes and is relieved when Mama tells her she doesn’t. Then they are discussing pain medication. Mama suggests Jane take Motrin, which she uses to dull the pain of arthritis. When Jane, who possesses a freakishly high tolerance for pain, tells her she tries to avoid using pain medications, Mama looks at her duly impressed.

  When the photographer announces he is ready to take the photos, Jane quickly reaches for her makeup bag and returns to powder Mama’s nose. “There! That ought to do it!” We are ready for our close-up.

  After the photo shoot, we have lunch downstairs in the restaurant. Jane fusses over Mama, making sure the waiter finds a space nearby to park Mama’s scooter, pulling out her chair for her, folding a napkin in her lap and suggesting menu items.

  “Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

  “Oh, no! I eat everything. Even without my teeth I eat it all!”

  They chuckle and reminisce about the Party days. Mama is bashing former Party leaders Huey Newton and Elaine Brown. Regaling Jane with gossip about their corrupt activities and lifestyles. Jane listens attentively, offering commiserative “Umphs!” and “Tsk, tsks!” I can see Mama is getting righteously angry reliving those difficult years. Her voice is rising and I can see she’s beginning to flail her arms a bit. I jump into the conversation before she starts dropping F bombs in this quaint little eatery in Berkeley.

  “Doesn’t Mama’s hair look nice? She let me give her a haircut last week.”

  “Yes, she looks beautiful. I see where you get it from.”

  Then Jane reaches over and takes Mama’s hand and says, “You should be so proud of Lulu. You are a big part of why she is such a wonderful woman.”

  “We did a good job,” she retorts with a shy smile.

  After lunch we climb into the chauffeured car to take Mama home before dropping Jane at the airport. When the car pulls up in front of Mama’s house, I notice there is a little crowd of neighbors out across the street watching us. Jane asks Mama if she can come in for a short visit. “Of course!” We all get out and a man from across the street yells, “Hey, Jane!” Jane waves and proceeds to follow me as I push Mama up the ramp and onto her porch. We go inside and Mama invites Jane to take a peek at the family photos on the wall. Jane asks about Marsellus Wallace and Mama tells her to go to the back of the house and pull back the drapes on the sliding glass doors. Jane does so and is greeted with a quizzical bark from the Rottweiler. We chat for a while, and then Jane and I hug Mama good-bye. On our way back to the car, the little crowd is still there. They snap more pictures as we get into the car. As we drive away, I think Mama will have a lot to talk about next time she hangs out with her friends.

  EPILOGUE

  BRINGING MY MOTHERS together felt like catching sight of a Hobbit riding a unicorn down Main Street. Surreal. It wasn’t long ago that I held little hope that I’d muster the courage to see Mama face to face, let alone coordinate a meeting with us all. Seeing them together emphasized just what polar opposites they are. One could not imagine two more different women.

  I had no idea that the road I was on would lead to this meeting. There were many dead ends I had to maneuver around. I left everything and everyone I knew many times along the way. But the farther I traveled, the stronger I felt, despite the fact that there were times when the urge to divert down Easy Street was nearly overwhelming. The only thing that kept me going in the right direction was the fact that I knew not doing so meant losing myself forever.

  So here I stand. My emotional Everest peaked. My flag planted. My reward? I’ve gained family in Oakland and Texas that love me and accept me. I’ve strengthened my bond with Jane. After our visit with Mama, Jane tells me how adorable Mama is. She’d anticipated anger but instead got a sweet, funny, curious woman—the woman I remember so vividly from my early childhood. Jane and I are nestled in the cool dark interior of a chauffeured car headed to the airport. East Oakland slides by in the bright afternoon and, to the unknowing eye, looks like a not too bad place to raise a family. Still looking out the window I tell Jane, “Mama wants
me to come spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with her.” There is a brief pause before Jane asks, “Will you?” And I tell her, “No. I’m going to be where I belong. With you.”

  There hasn’t been a fairytale ending with my biological mother, but our story isn’t over yet. What I did not expect was to find some things hadn’t changed and never will. We will continue struggling to connect, she will battle her demons and I mine. Now, though, I can honestly say that I love her and respect her, and that I need her presence in my life. Our differences, our fears, our fights won’t run me off like last time. And so where one road ends, another begins. This time I’ve unburdened myself of my savior complex. I can’t save my mama from her life, any more than she could have saved me from mine. For this leg of the journey I’m traveling light.

  This is my mama at age sixteen.

  My daddy holding my little brother, Randy.

  In the top row, fourth from the left, is my sweet maternal grandmother, Marie. The handsome gentleman in the suit next to her is my grandfather. They divorced before I was born, and though he lived in the Bay Area his whole life, I never met him. The baby in my grandfather’s arms is my father.

  One of my happiest memories is of visiting Daddy in prison. I was in my forties the first time I saw this photo of my little brother, Daddy and me. I was shocked how closely it matched my memory of the visit, right down to the nature mural behind us.

  Me, three years old.

  Uncle Landon, Aunt Jan and cousin Thembi in 1983.

  Dress-up day at Aunt Jan and Uncle Landon’s house. From the left: cousin Thembi, me, cousin Kijana and cousin Ayaan. We are all sporting magenta lipstick. I really resemble my mama at age sixteen with my poodle hair.

  Tom Hayden, me and Jane at Laurel Springs. This was the beginning of our beautiful friendship.

  Twelve years old, and in my first play at Laurel Springs. I played a wicked nurse à la Nurse Ratched in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

  Me in my favorite striped shirt, hugging Jane and a friend in a summer-camp group photo.

  Me and Jane looking very eighties at my high school graduation.

  Shortly after my move to Santa Monica. Me, Tom and Troy hamming it up in a tiny photo booth.

  Me and Troy at Ted and Jane’s wedding at Avalon Plantation in 1991.

  The Turners and the Fondas celebrating Christmas at Avalon Plantation. There were so many presents, they nearly blocked out the tree!

  Me, Troy, Vanessa and Jane at Ted’s Avalon Plantation for our first Christmas together, in 1992.

  With Jane at an Atlanta Braves game.

  1992: Jane took this photo of me at Ted’s ranch in Montana.

  Jane’s sixtieth-birthday bash.

  From the left: Peter Fonda, me, Jon Voight, Jane and dear family friend Jimmy Averitt.

  Jane and me at her sixtieth. Doesn’t she look fabulous?

  Preparing for a canoe portage trip as part of my training as a summer environmental educator at the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge in Alaska. Once the trip began and I had to carry a ten-foot canoe more than half a mile, I lost my radiant smile.

  Photo courtesy of Emily Sunblade

  Hiking a section of the Colorado Trail in 2001.

  Me with my neighbor in rural Shinyanga, Tanzania.

  With Dave Eggers and members of the Lost Boys Foundation in 2002.

  Jane and me surrounded by Lost Boys at a Thanksgiving celebration thrown in their honor.

  Sitting on top of Mount Katahdin, which is the terminus of the Appalachian Trail. I was so exhausted when I finally got there that I cried.

  Taking a photo opportunity on the Appalachian Trail.

  A baby seal encounter while I’m out flagging roads.

  Just another mind-blowing afternoon on the Ross Ice Shelf, Antarctica.

  Me in Christchurch, New Zealand, suited up and prepared for a very long flight to my new job at McMurdo Station in Antarctica.

  Christmastime at Jane’s loft in Atlanta. From the left: Me, Santa Jane holding my nephew Malcolm, my sister Vanessa holding my niece Viva, and my sister Nathalie.

  Mother’s Day with Mama in Oakland. I cut her hair myself and I think it looks quite chic.

  My first meeting with Mama in her little house.

  My very happy reunion with my uncle Landon.

  A Williams family “Fun in the Forest” event at Samuel P. Taylor State Park. Uncle Landon took the photo.

  Enjoying the moment in the belly of an ancient redwood tree.

  Mama and me.

  My mamas and me.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Mary Williams’s work has appeared in The Believer, McSweeney’s, and O: The Oprah Magazine. She is the author of the children’s book, Brothers in Hope: The Story of the Lost Boys of Sudan. She lives in the Southwest.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Before writing my own book I scoffed at writers who equated writing theirs to giving birth. After the fact, I can’t think of a more fitting analogy. I could not have conceived of and delivered this book without the help and support of many people. I must thank my book’s “baby daddy,” Dave Eggers. Thanks, friend, for “planting the seed” and encouraging me to write when I didn’t believe I could. And thanks to my literary OB/GYN (aka, the world’s greatest agent), Edward Orloff. You rock! Not only did you open your home to me, you did a fantastic job monitoring my growth as a writer. Of course I had to have a doula. I found her in my wonderful editor, Sarah Hochman. Sarah, thank you for making a potentially painful and difficult process one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I’m thrilled that together we have delivered a book we can both be extremely proud of. Thanks to Blue Rider Press—David Rosenthal, Vanessa Kehren, Aileen Boyle, and Brian Ulicky—and to Penguin USA.

  I’d also like to acknowledge the love and support of my friends and family: Jane Fonda, Mary Nell Kennedy, Deborah Williams, Uncle Landon, Neome Banks, Aunt Jan, Aunt Ora, Aunt Nell, Grandma, Ayaan Gates Williams, Thembi Williams, Indigo Williams, Aunt Virginia, Petik Williams, Kim Williams, Kijana Liu, Yupo Liu, John Williams, The Awesome Latasha Williams, Teresa Williams, Louise Williams, Donna Williams, Randy Williams, Clara Jean Williams, Vanessa Vadim, Troy Garity, Simone Bent, Nathalie Vadim, Ted Turner, Jimmy Brown, Debbie Masterson, Joe Masterson, Eileen Masterson, Laura Turner Seydel, Rutherford Seydel, Teddy Turner, Rhett Turner, Jenny Garlington, Beau Turner, Rosina Seydel, Scott Seydel, Pat Mitchel, Thouraya Raiss, Juan Jose Alonzo, Yasmine Alonzo. My Phonzis: Andrea Carter (S) and Terese Smallwood Whitehead (M), Laila Benchekroun, Rachida Benchekroun, Omar Chaabi, Vendela Vida, Valentino Deng, Patrice Gaines, Peter Frick Wright, Tom Hayden, Barbara Williams, Steven Bennett, Karen Averitt, Jim Averitt, Marin Marcus, Kristy Davis, Susan Johnson, Pat Durett, Robin Laughlin, Carol Mitchell, Tommy Mitchell, Shawn Barton, and David and Laurel Hodges. If I have left anyone out, I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to you later.

  Last, I’d like to thank the amazing folks at the Student Conservation Association (SCA) for providing me with beautiful places to live, work, and contribute to the preservation of our country’s wild spaces. It was while working with the SCA, from the moonscaped deserts of Southern California to the grizzly-bear-infested forests of Alaska, that my mind was quieted enough to allow me to work on this book.

  No matter under what circumstances you leave it, home does not cease to be home. No matter how you lived there—well or poorly.

  —JOSEPH BRODSKY