Brenna camping on Blueberry Island, 1996

Marian was a restless and intense child, hardly sleeping, always questioning. Brenna was distinctly different. Before her birth I felt her serenity. Both girls were born by Caesarean, but Brenna's was planned and relatively easy. She didn't cry, in fact it seemed like she was born laughing, with a big joke on such a serious world.

She was barely two when I moved out in January 1996. The next few months were the worst of my life. I don't know who influenced my ex-wife, but she took it into her head I was a threat to our children. Above all she was angry, and likely insecure about her own parenting abilities. She continued to exert unreasonable control until November 1997, when a child psychologist refused to support her demand for sole custody.

But 1996 was the worst. For several months she insisted on supervising my visits with Marian and Brenna. I was devastated. I wanted nothing more out of life than to be a father. I could not be myself in the presence of my ex-wife who despised me. I only saw the girls two or three times between February and July. I practically missed Brenna learning to talk.

One weekend that summer I took the girls camping on Blueberry Island at Lake Fletcher. These photos captured Brenna still innocent and jovial. A further account of that weekend with more photos of Brenna is recorded elsewhere.

Marian was four at the time. We had already bonded, and nothing could come between us. Brenna and I never had the same opportunity. I believe the past decade has taken a heavier toll on her. She has not lost her sense of humour, but it has an edge to it.

Here is another story from a year later, in 1997, when I was living with my lover, Dan, in a one-bedroom apartment. He had two children the same age as mine: Eric, 5, and Shawna, 3. The weekends when all four children visited were insane, but while the rest of us quarrelled and lost our tempers, Brenna, the youngest, always kept her sunny disposition.

One night I made a frittata for dinner and cut it into six pieces. Shawna wouldn't touch hers, but Brenna was delighted. When we all finished and Eric and Marian left the table to storm around the living room, Brenna asked if she could have the last piece. As soon as Shawna saw this, she demanded it.

"That's okay," Brenna said. "I'm not really hungry," and excused herself from the table.

Shawna took one bite of her frittata, made a face, refused to eat it, and asked for some dessert.

Whereupon Brenna reappeared.

"Dad, can I have that piece after all?"

~~~~~~~~~~~

I am feeling much better today. What a relief to get my brain back! I have to take the car back to my parents' place this afternoon. I'll return by train, stopping in London and visiting detailbear tomorrow night, then joining a Forest City Bears bar night on Saturday. I'll be home on Sunday.