Photo: One of our neighborhood gardens, by Meg.
I knew I was in trouble after I said something in the last post about trying to distract ourselves from sadness. Brené Brown was in my head right away with, “Our children need to learn to sit with discomfort and pain.” It was like a bad omen–maybe I should have edited the post right then so as not to tempt fate.
Alas, I did not edit the post. I arrived at school to find Amelia tearful after another student accidentally sprayed her in the eye with perfume. I could tell she wasn’t up for festivities, so we bailed on after-school playtime and headed home to regroup before trekking to the library. We hadn’t been home an hour when it happened.
Gasp. Wide eyes. “Mom, I forgot my pictures,” and then the wailing began. A year’s worth of artwork, left at school in her drawer. I checked the clock and then did what any Good Mother would do, right? I called the teacher on her cell phone. “Is it too late? Are you still there?” I asked her.
“I told the children–I told them, anything they left would be thrown away. They already came and took away anything that was left in the room.” A tragic mistake that could not be fixed. The sorrow–Oh, the sorrow. We’ll sit with the sadness, I thought. We’ll just feel it and be with it. We crowded into the rocking chair, Amelia wailing in my left arm and Lucy leaning over periodically to kiss me on the cheek and grin from my right arm. This continued for a very long time. Amelia went through the spaces of loss.
“I am Not Even Moving until we get them back, and if we don’t get them I’m Never Moving Again. I will stay Right Here Forever.”
“They are going to recycle my pictures and turn them into something else.” Now like a siren, “I don’t want them to be something else.”
“I want Daddy! I want Daddy to go get them. Let’s just go find them, we’ll go to school and tell them–We Need Those!”
I confess that I ran through every possible scenario in my mind by which I might fix this. None of them were even plausible. I went through all the I Should Have Known Betters and regrets of my own. I resisted the temptation to distract her from the pain with a trip to The Chocolate Room. No, no, no. Life is like this, I reminded myself. Better that she learns now. Sometimes we make mistakes that we can’t fix. Sometimes we suffer heartbreaking loss. We must go through it, and we will go on. I looked at the clock. How many hours of tears would this wound take to clean?
When I felt my confidence weaken, I went into another room and pulled up Brené’s Parenting CD Discussion Guide for The Gifts of Imperfect Parenting: Raising Children with Courage, Compassion and Connection. I’m doing the right thing, right? I wanted to know. It said, when we numb shame, fear, anxiety, sadness, vulnerability, grief, uncertainty, and disappointment (and teach our children to do the same), we automatically dull our experiences of joy and compassion.
Amen, amen. No numbing. We sat and had more tears. Finally (only a single hour after it had begun), Amelia’s storm finished and we were ready for that trip to the library. When Justin came home, she recounted the tale to him with sadness, but no more tears.
It is so difficult to hold the heartbreak, theirs in my arms and my own in my chest. But it is only one time of many, and learning to experience it will build our resilience for the future. Or at least that’s the bet I’m placing.
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Technorati Tags: Brené Brown, discomfort, Jen Lee, parenting, Sadness, sorrow, The Gifts of Imperfect Parenting