Poor Wosey. She's bright-eyed and bushy-tailed during the day, and falls apart at night.
Whatever the reason, she hasn't been feeling her best. And a fragile five year old is fun to have around.
Sometimes Bear and I can pass off the sudden, inexplicable tears or temper as tiredness or hunger or too-wound-up or the phase of the moon, but sometimes my lovely baby girl shows her hidden core of evil and we all trip over each other trying to get out of the way.
Because like a howler monkey, that girl can spit.
(Not, uh, that she actually does. That would be awful.)
I thought all this tempestuousness was due to the day-to-day stress of being five and having school end soon (and there's a wee bit o'drama eddying around about R and one of her friends)and the summer stretching out in front of her and there are all these changes, you see, how on earth would she not be stressed? but after she burst into tears last night in the shower I finally got her to tell me what the matter was.
Rosey is afraid she's dying.
Because she was really sick, (and here I cocked my head and thought Really? Sniffles and a little vomit make you really sick?? I need to call in to work more often) and Nana and Papa got really sick, and then they died.
Oh my sweet girl.
We had a long cuddle and a talk about diabetes and how Nana and Papa were both sick, sick in different ways but still with so many health problems, and how yes, someday we all die, but not today, and not soon, but someday, and please don't be frightened, sweetheart.
And there were some sniffles and clasping hugs and then she tried to get me to promise that I wouldn't die before she had kids of her own and I said that sounded reasonable to me.
And just like that, the storm was over.
10 comments:
That poor little thing! I'm glad she told you about it. Such heavy troubles for such a little girl.
AWWWW! but when you said she was crying and said that, I knew why. It's hard to get it all into their little heads, you do good work though. great parenting moment you took it in and fix it!
My son was the same age when he began talking about dying. It was triggered by his aunt's dog getting sick. Stage or a coincidence? I can't say, but it came up many, many nights to the point I started believing that he was just using it as an excuse to stay up and talk.
Your little R is too sweet, though, to have a wish so mature.
Poor sweet girl. Glad she finally told you what was bothering her. She is a keeper.
Awww man! That's so sweet and sad all at once. I'm sure that phase'll come to us sooner than we expect and I'll be messaging you to get a blow by blow of what to say. Sweet, sweet girl.
Oh, poor sweet girl. I'm glad that you got to the root of the problem.
Whoa...that was some deep stuff she was hauling around! Glad she got it out!
Poor Rosey! No wonder there were all those tears. I'm sure the cuddles helped.
Rae is much more pragmatic. The only conversation we've had so far about death is when she asked me, "If I die, are you going to bury me in the back yard?"
My little boy went through a delayed grief reaction of the loss of our cat, when he truly realized she wasn't coming back, he cried and cried.
He's also only known my father as "Grandpa Joe up in Heaven". Yeah, we've had a lot of discussions about death. It's so hard for them to grasp the concept.
I love you :) and I loved this post. Brett and I have had a similar talk about Uncle Clark and his sick heart...
Crystell
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