My Daughter, Princess Wonder Woman

    For all those who risk their lives every year,

every month,

every day,

every hour,

every minute,

every second. 

We will value your memory,

honor your sacrifice,

and help fight for your cause:

freedom. 

    I yell loudly, hoping that a louder volume will catch Olga’s attention. 

    “Olga, time for bed!” No response.

    I walk over to her playroom and open the door slowly. Pink clouds and unicorns float in a hazy room that seems like the embodiment of the word imagination. My daughter sits in the middle of it all, long, wispy, curly brown hair weaving in and out of glitter-caked fairy wings. Olga giggles and scurries on tiny feet behind her bookshelves, which have been pulled out to create one of Olga’s famous princess caves. 

    I roar and spread out my arms like a troll, stomping my way over to the cave. Olga giggles as I scoop up her delicate frame. 

    “Daddy!” She exclaims, wrapping her arms around my neck. 

    “It’s bedtime Olga.” I say, setting her down on the floor and kneeling in front of her so that we are eye-to-eye. She crosses her arms and puts on an adorable frown. 

    “My name isn’t Olga.” She pouts, her little pink lips puckering. “I’m Princess Wonder Woman.” 

    “Time for bed, P-double-double-U.” 

    “Princess Wonder Woman!” She laughs, stomping her little foot playfully. 

    “But that’s too long.” I say in a tired voice, falling onto my back. I yell as a pink Lego works itself into my spine. Olga laughs, jumping on top of me, which only makes the pain worse. 

    I growl and sit up, scooping Olga into my lap while taking off her fairy wings. 

    “I swear you sharpen those things in your free time.” I say, pulling out the offensive Lego embedded in my back. 

    “No, I don’t.” Olga says, swaying back and forth with her hands clasped behind her back. She giggles as I stand and carry her to her bedroom. 

    I set her down on the bed. She snuggles into the mattress, pulling her quilt up over her head. 

    I kiss her goodnight and turn off the lights. I exit the room quietly, pulling the door slowly shut behind me. 

    “Daddy?” Two eyes peek out over the edge of the quilt. I sigh tiredly.   

    “Yes, Princess?” 

    “Can you tell me a story?” 

    “Sure.” I say, sighing as I sit on the edge of the baby pink toddler bed. “What story would you like?”

    “Tell me ‘bout when you and Mommy went away fighting.” 

    I look at my daughter’s innocent face. I push wispy curls back out of her eyes. 

    “Not tonight. In a few years, maybe. How about Wonder Woman?” I say, pulling a comic off the bookshelf. 

    “No, I want to know why you and Mommy went away to fight the bad guys.” She pouts. 

    I breathe in sharply. 

    “Princess, many years before you were born, some bad men attacked our country, killing hundreds. They knocked down two tall towers in the city. Your Grandpa was one of the men who helped put out the fires.” He died that day. 

    “Your daddy?” 

    “Yes. Ever since then we have been trying to stop the bad men. We call them terrorists. Mommy and Daddy had to go away to help stop those bad men. To keep you, and Grandma, and Papa, and Mimi safe.” 

    “And Mommy’s still fighting?” Olga looks up at me, her little eyes shining in the moonlight streaming through the open window. A tear drips off my chin and unto her upturned face. 

    “Mommy’s still fighting.” 

    “When I grow up, I’m going to be just like Wonder Woman. I’ll fight and kill all those bad guys. Every single one so that you and everybody’s Mommies and Daddies won’t have to fight ‘nymore.” 

    I tremble and hold Olga close. 

    “Promise me, Princess. Promise me that you’ll never go over there.” 

    “But I ‘ant to help…”

    “Promise.” I say harshly. 

    “Daddy, I can’t.” Olga sobs. I hug her tighter. It amazes me how such a big and noble heart can live in such a small person.   

    “I’m sorry. It’s bedtime.” I say, releasing Olga and tucking her in under the blankets. I shut the door quietly as I exit the room. 

    I collapse on the living room couch. I cover my face with my hands, sobbing so hard that my body shakes. Mommy’s still fighting. The words repeat over and over in my skull, echoing around like shaken dice. 

    Three years ago. We were in a supplies convoy, traveling to base camp when we were bombed. I woke up hours later to learn that Marianne had been directly hit. There wasn’t even a body left to bury.

    I pick up her picture from the coffee table. She smiles her characteristic big smile, bright blues eyes shining, contrasting her camouflage uniform. I hug her to my chest. 

    I hear the pad of tiny footsteps and quietly dry my tears. A small body wiggles it’s way into my arms and takes the photograph. 

    “Daddy, when’s Mommy ‘comin home?” 

    “Not for a long time.” I choke, stroking her hair. I kiss her soft, peach-fuzzy cheek. I let her fall asleep on my stomach. Once I feel the tell-tale sweat of sleep soaking through my shirt, I carry her back to her room and set her on her bed. 

    I reach for the picture, but something stays my hand. She hugs it tightly in her sleep, the loveliest blue eyes I’ve ever seen peeking up over her elbow. I smile tightly. 

    My head pounds as I walk back out to the couch, sitting for a few minutes with my eyes closed. I picture red hair, blue eyes and a hand waving in the wind as we ride to the hospital. I remember tears in Marianne’s eyes when we first held Olga. I remember signing the adoption documents, kissing my new daughter on her brand-new, fuzzy scalp, and Marianne laughing as I put tiny, jellybean Olga into my uniform hat. 

    I look at the picture of us all on the day of Olga’s adoption hanging above the TV. I smile.  A real genuine smile. If I had a choice, I would relive every second of my being with her. From that day I met her at high school prom to the moment before she died. That’s what love is. Unconditional sacrifice. She died so Olga and me could live. 

    I remember, just a week ago, how I held a steak knife in my hand, determined to end it.  Olga came rushing in at the last second, sobbing and covered in mud. She was covered in leeches, and I quickly heated the knife and used it to pull the leeches off. As I carried her out of the bathroom after her bath, I remembered why I need to be alive. 

    Whether she knows it or not, Olga already saved a life. She is my little Wonder Woman; she is my Princess. She is my daughter. And she is just like her mother, even if they are not of the same blood. Even though she’s adopted, she’s my daughter. 

    And she always will be.