Beneath the Scar
It is about an inch long. The color is burgundy with hints of purple near the middle. It makes a dent in the right side of her forehead, about halfway between her eyebrow and hairline. When she raises her brow, the dent deepens, protruding the surrounding flesh.
To a stranger, a scar may simply spark curiosity. But to a mother, her child's scar holds complicated meaning. There is the painful memory, the current care and the future heartache.
Will it fade? Will the dent grow shallower? Will it bother her? Will she be embarrassed? How many minutes will it take for someone to see beyond the scar?
Years ago when I was having dinner with family in France, the patriarch of my cousin's big, boisterous family looked at my face and said in front of everyone, "She's not bad for being disfigured."
Only the French can be so outright, n'est pas? After my initial humiliation, his public comment actually made me feel good because my scars were acknowledged, then dismissed as insignificant. Something I was never able to do myself.
On the drive home from the ER the night of G's fall, before all the complications happened, Robin tried to ease my concerns. I was worried about her scarring because I had struggled for 30 years with my own and it distressed me that my daughter would have to go through similar anguish.
He said if anything, we would have this connection, this bond, that only the two of us would understand. I could tell her how it could strengthen her self-esteem instead of weaken it. How it could set her apart and help her grow into a unique individual. How it would motivate her to try harder at just about everything.
This was not the sort of bonding I would have chosen. While his comments about our mother-daughter commonality didn't make me feel better, it did make me think about my own scars and in a way helped me come to terms with them.
I think it's like when you have kids, You as a separate being no longer matter. Your kids are more important than you will ever be again. So the same might be said for anything that happens to them. It will overpower and render your own issues inconsequential.
As I look at her now, the scar provides a contrast that forces me to wholly appreciate the rest of her. I see her incredible beauty. The little sparkles in her blue eyes. The gilded curls circling her face. Her riotous expressions. Her epidemically infectious smile. And under it all, I see the emergence of a beaming personality, clever and charming and generous.
Isn't what's underneath infinitely more interesting and wonderful anyway? Perhaps this would serve well as a reminder to teach that lesson. Even if the scar fades, hopefully the lesson will last. For the both of us.
To a stranger, a scar may simply spark curiosity. But to a mother, her child's scar holds complicated meaning. There is the painful memory, the current care and the future heartache.
Will it fade? Will the dent grow shallower? Will it bother her? Will she be embarrassed? How many minutes will it take for someone to see beyond the scar?
Years ago when I was having dinner with family in France, the patriarch of my cousin's big, boisterous family looked at my face and said in front of everyone, "She's not bad for being disfigured."
Only the French can be so outright, n'est pas? After my initial humiliation, his public comment actually made me feel good because my scars were acknowledged, then dismissed as insignificant. Something I was never able to do myself.
On the drive home from the ER the night of G's fall, before all the complications happened, Robin tried to ease my concerns. I was worried about her scarring because I had struggled for 30 years with my own and it distressed me that my daughter would have to go through similar anguish.
He said if anything, we would have this connection, this bond, that only the two of us would understand. I could tell her how it could strengthen her self-esteem instead of weaken it. How it could set her apart and help her grow into a unique individual. How it would motivate her to try harder at just about everything.
This was not the sort of bonding I would have chosen. While his comments about our mother-daughter commonality didn't make me feel better, it did make me think about my own scars and in a way helped me come to terms with them.
I think it's like when you have kids, You as a separate being no longer matter. Your kids are more important than you will ever be again. So the same might be said for anything that happens to them. It will overpower and render your own issues inconsequential.
As I look at her now, the scar provides a contrast that forces me to wholly appreciate the rest of her. I see her incredible beauty. The little sparkles in her blue eyes. The gilded curls circling her face. Her riotous expressions. Her epidemically infectious smile. And under it all, I see the emergence of a beaming personality, clever and charming and generous.
Isn't what's underneath infinitely more interesting and wonderful anyway? Perhaps this would serve well as a reminder to teach that lesson. Even if the scar fades, hopefully the lesson will last. For the both of us.
posted by Anne at 9:09 PM
14 Comments:
I've known you for over half of my life now, and as I read your post I had to go back and ask myself what scars you were talking about. I looked at the family pictures that you took this spring and all I thought was that you looked beautiful (and that R has a funny smile...but he knows that already, and his smile is endearing, too). As a person who has a scar on the right side of her forehead about half way between her eyebrow and her hairline, one that I incurred about three months older than G was when she had her accident, I can tell you that I did think of mine growing up. I remember wondering if people could see it, but no one ever said anything about it. As you say, maybe it would have been better if people acknowledged it and moved on. But perhaps the person who needed them to acknowledge it was me, when in reality the scar didn't phase them. Even now people don't notice my scars unless I point them out, which suggests that we magnify our imperfections more than the outside world. I probably ask people about scars more than I should because of my own, but I'm not sure that it registers in terms of more or less beauty. I find them fascinating. Scars hold stories. Usually stories of pain. But with those stories, as you've pointed out, comes understanding, empathy, experience. Our sufferings make us unique, and more often appreciative of the true beauties and gifts in our lives. My appendix scar haunts me far more than my forehead, and no one ever sees that one. G may grown up thinking about her scar, being self conscious, but every child, every teenager, and most adults are self conscious about the things that make them different. Her smile, her personality, her radiance, will also make her different. It is the love and support that you give her--the support that allows her to be herself--that will matter and will help her move beyond those insecurities that haunt us all.
Hi Em,
Thanks for your thoughtful comment. I love this especially: "Our sufferings make us unique, and more often appreciative of the true beauties and gifts in our lives."
I have ten scars on my face and neck, so it made me smile that you had to think about it. I do a decent job of hiding them and I never leave the house without make-up.
They weren't always so light. Even to this day I don't know if people are looking at me because they think I'm cute or because they're grossed out. I was called ugly names in elementary school, and that experience has stuck with me.
This experience with G though, has made as much of a difference as anything could.
Just like Emily mentioned above I went back after reading this and went through all my photos of you. I actually wasn't sure what you were referring to about having scars, and funny enough even after perusing through my many close-ups that I have of you, I didn't notice a single scar :)
That being said we all have something we don't like about ourselves. I think I could broaden this and say we all have some part of our body that we don't like or wish was different. It doesn't matter. It's what makes us all unique.
Scars just tell a story...
Another one that is thinking "what scars"? Never noticed 'em.
And whats interesting for me, since I feel I've gotten to know you more through your blog than face to face time, is this: When I think of Angie, and a visual comes into focus...I see a tall,lithe,smart woman with wonderful self assurance. Someone I would probably take notice of right away, simply because she seems so poised.
Your thoughts and words have created my image of Angie, more than any physicality. That's cool.
And, like you said - what we have to say, what lies beneath our oh- so-fragile pysches - that's the good stuff. The stuff that endures, anyway.
Another great one.
Amy
Hi, Angie,
1. I am very glad that you've resumed blogging. Your words wept.
2. "epidemically infectious" is a fantastic use of words.
3. I am a loss for what else to say about your daughter's injury and resultant scar. And I think Emily Gwynne offered the perfect balance of honesty, consolation and kindness from a perspective that I can not offer. It was a very good comment.
4. Scars. I've never met you so I can not comment on your own but now that we've brought up the topic of what you look like, I've thought for a long while that your picture resembles a young Ann Curry - which I realize is somewhat nuts since you are French and she's half Asian...I think? I think it's just the picture, perhaps. But what makes the connection for me is that you're both striking, attractive women. (How about I feel awkward now?)
5. I dated a woman with a noticeable scar on her face and honestly, my only thought was the urge to kiss it.
6. When we meet, I will show you my own body oddity. (Which is not nearly as intimate sounding as...well, as that just sounded.)
This was a good, heartfelt read. Thank you.
-R.
Oh yes, I forgot to mention... something is being delivered to Bev on Wednesday. There is something small in that package for you. I hope you enjoy.
-R.
Lynch and Amy - You've really never noticed them?! Here I was feeling proud of myself, like I've had a breakthrough, for writing openly and honestly about the flaws I'm horribly self-conscious about, and no one's noticed them.
I thank you for that.
Goes to show how much harder bad memories are to fade than the wounds themselves. At least now I know I'm not scaring anyone when I'm out and about.
Lynch - Your camera is kind and works magic no matter where it goes or who's in front of it. It could make anyone forget their flaws.
Amy - Thank you so much for your generous words. That really makes me feel good.
We do need to do more face to face though! Or I don't know, that might change your image of me. I'll probably try to act graceful next time I see you and end up tripping over a piece of lint.
R - Thank you, thank you. I've always liked your lists. :-)
Yes, Emily Gwynne is a pretty smart woman, among other things. I'm lucky to know her.
I totally see what you mean about Ann Curry. I think it's mostly the blog picture, but I'm flattered by the comparison and the compliment! (Blushing all around)
I'm looking forward to your body oddity. I think. In the meantime I'll try not to come up with my own ideas of what it might be.
And I can't wait for your little gift, thank you! :-D
Oy, yes, please refrain from letting your imagination run wild! It'd be too mind boggling to actually have someone be disappointed by my body oddity.
-R.
You have had a breakthrough, by the way, maybe two: you've faced a fear of yours by writing openly, and perhaps you've begun to realize that the rest of the world sees you (and a beautiful you at that!), not the trauma from your childhood that you harbor inside (or its outward signs).
And I'm fairly certain that I'm the lucky one. Even luckier still because you're pretty much stuck with me for the rest of our lives. I can't wait to see you all in a month.
Angie,
I have absolutely no idea what scars you are talking about. I have NEVER noticed any at all! I had to re-read your post a couple of times, because I thought "who is she talking about??"
What I DO remember is the first time I met you, I told the other guys in the office that R's wife was one of the most beautiful women I had EVER seen!
Physically, you're absolutely stunning. The fact that you're so intelligent, funny, and sweet too....well, it's just kind of unfair! :)
Hi Krystie,
Can I buy you dinner? 'Cause I need to buy you dinner. Or a drink at the very least. An expensive one. You are too, too kind.
It has shocked me that no one's noticed my scars. I feel different when I'm out in public now. It only took 31 years.
Seriously, anytime you want that dinner. :-D
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