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| Naima and her Daddy |
But this post isn't about my grief (I am thankful that my friends on Facebook have supported me through that), rather this is about my youngest. My toddler was 2 when her Daddy died and my "big girl" was 6. They've both had birthdays since then and while they will periodically cry for their Daddy, generally it has been less frequent than me so I presumed that the support of their schools and the church was all we needed. Until this morning.
This Sunday started out like any other day. I woke up with Naima next to me in my bed (miraculously, her big sister didn't make it into my bed for the night). She said a cheerful "Good morning Mommy!"and then curled up inside my arm. Then she fell silent like something was on her mind. "What are you thinking about Boo Boo?" I asked. "I miss Daddy," she said. "I know Boo Boo, it's around this time you'd barge into our room and start bouncing on your Daddy." She looked up and grinned. "Yeah! I like bouncing on Daddy. I was bouncing on your and Daddy's bed when he was sick." My heart skipped because I knew she meant that Monday. After a soft opening that had lasted for several months, it was to be the first full week of the official opening of his new business in New York City. He had worked late the night before which was Super Bowl Sunday and despite leaving around midnight, he didn't get home until 7 am on Monday. He told me that morning that he was so tired that driving home he periodically would pull over on the New Jersey Turnpike to rest. So I told him to stay home, but since I was in a rush, I asked him to take Naima to preschool while I took our 6 year old to school before going into Manhattan (I also worked at the business he co-owned). He agreed.
But it turns out he never did get to take Naima to preschool and when I got home that Monday I took one look at him and took him to the hospital.
This morning Naima told me that she played on the bed while Daddy was sick and I was at work. But when she tried to get him to get up, he couldn't because he was too sick. "So I gave Daddy medicine," she said. "What do you mean, Naima?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. So she explained that she went to the bathroom and got "medicine" and she "gave it to him" pouring a liquid medicine in his mouth so that he could get better.
I was stunned silent. I thought about what could she have possibly given him. I decided, thinking it through, it couldn't have been anything truly medicinal. We keep things out of her reach and everything has a safety cap. But the idea that my then two-year-old thought she could, on her own, give her Daddy medicine to get better both touched and alarmed me.
"Naima," I began gently, "I know you wanted to help Daddy but in the future please don't give anyone anything while they are sleeping, ok?" Naima begins to weep: "I wanted to make Daddy better, I gave him medicine, I tried to help Daddy because he was sick." And so for several minutes she was inconsolable and I rocked her in my arms until she calmed. Afterwards I told her to go to the playroom with her sister. It was at that point I broke down and cried.
According to my husband's sister (an MD), it's unlikely this is a thought Naima has been carrying for several months or that she is blaming herself. Children don't think like that (only us adults do that). After crying I posted on Facebook that Naima had a memory of the day her Daddy went into the hospital and that I needed help. I am grateful for the referrals sent to me. A friend of Roland's also posted (again, without knowing the specifics of what my daughter told me), that whatever she said might not even be true. He had a point, but if she believes it, shouldn't I address it?
I'm going to seek counseling for her. I'm torn because I want her to remember her Daddy, but I don't want her to remember that day, the last day she saw him alive (I never took the girls to the hospital the three days he was there). Hopefully a grief counselor or psychologist can help me work all of this out.
