Every day, I am surrounded by life. Emerging skills and the will to learn and survive. Children learning to crawl and pull-up. Children learning to put on their shoes and recite their ABCs. Children proud to fill their water bottles and set the lunch table. Little people, lots of them, all under the age of 5.
Sometimes I wonder what they will look like in 10 or 15 years when I see them in the grocery store or in the newspaper? I can already tell which of them will be taller than me or smarter than me. It would never occur to me that any of the children I know would lead anything less than a long, healthy, happy life…
I consider myself very “real” when it comes to children. I delight in them. I find them funny, but I don’t kid myself that being around children is always pleasant or easy. It is incredibly hopeful to work with children. I’m always that lady smiling at the sticky toddler in the grocery store, helping a child up a playscape at the park, and admiring new babies everywhere.
Recently, as I tickled the tummy of an acquaintance’s son at a function at my girls’ school, he took a spoonful of granular medicine in a matter-of-fact bite just before he began chomping on a ZBar. He had amazingly chubby fingers, front teeth a mile apart, and strawberry blond hair. At the same time that I admired his energetic presence, I wondered why he had taken that medicine? I didn’t want to intrude, but his mom volunteered that he had a disease that affected his digestion, and that would likely take his life before he turns 40. She shared the sequence of events that would transpire and ultimately shorten his life. She was so full of love as she spoke about him.
Should I comfort her or say “I’m sorry”? Every response seemed wrong as I listened intently and watched my own healthy children munching cookies and lemonade. She is obviously full of courage. She doesn’t need me to feel sorry for her. Could I ever be as accepting and talk frankly about it if one of my own children had the same fate?
I listened, and my heart broke. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t want to shame myself or her.
And then it occurred to me that the best way to honor the boy and his mother was to just be the “me” I would have been with him before I knew… I tickled him and I was silly with him as he played chase in the school gym with my kids and his siblings. I got over my shock and respected his life force by not withholding my affection and my “I’m gonna get you”s.
I think about this little guy often, and about his mother a lot. My kids consuming a pesticide-laden grape now and then doesn’t seem like the end of the world anymore. I wish for my little friend to be surrounded by life, for however long his life may be. And when I see him again, I’m going to make him laugh…
~Leslie
