A Grieving Child
Odd; what on earth would make a child tell a casual friend that she did not like her father. Well, you hear something like that and you think: little girls are by nature thespians and tragedianes, they like to draw attention to themselves, they enjoy posturing, earning sympathy. And then you forget. And you get to know the little girl better, by closer association over a longer period of time. As well as one can become more intimately acquainted with young child, friend of your own child. Particularly as the children are drawn toward one another, like to spend as much time as possible together playing children's games, whispering, giggling, daring each other. And in turns spending time at one another's homes.And by extension to become acquainted with their families. Father, mother, siblings, situations. In a limited way. You know you really like the mother. She is sensible, friendly, out front. She, like her daughter with yours, is someone with whom you know you could develop a warm and intimate friendship. You seem to share certain values, at least on a superficial level. And sometimes that's enough.
Still, nothing quite prepared you for the sound of that hysterical voice of a stricken child when you picked up the telephone, last night. The sound of a child's voice, bubbling over with grief, desperate for you to agree, to drive right over and pick her up. She gave you the impression she was all alone, bereft, frightened, needed to be saved - from what? You gathered up your child, drove the ten miles and brought the little girl back to your place. Making certain she wrote a note for her parents which they could read on their return.
On the way back to your place the child divulged that she hadn't been truly alone, after all. Her older, teen-age brother had been in the house ostensibly charged to look after her in their parents' absence. The child's anguish visibly diminished, she relaxed, sat back in her seat, held hands with your daughter. By the time you reached home, all seemed well, the children streamed into the house, sequestered themselves in the downstairs bedroom, and through the open door, you could see them playing quietly together.
An hour or so later, her mother telephoned. You were anxious, hoping her mother wouldn't think that you somehow were an interfering nuisance, that you should not have taken her child out of their house. But no, not at all. She was coming over. And when she did she revealed that she and her husband of 25 years had been at a counselling session. And then a dam broke, and much personal anguish gushed forth. You verbally stroked, soothed, confirmed, encouraged. And like her daughter, the mother slowly regained her calm demeanor, but even so, she continued divulging her unhappiness, her realization that nothing positive could conceivably be rescued from yet another failed marriage.
Her husband was given to violent demonstrations of displeasure. He promised, he kept promising. She'd had an abusive, alcoholic father, she'd seen what her mother had lived through. He'd been raised by a loving, caring family. Why was she able to rise above her early experience? Why was he unable to embrace the emotional support he'd always received and lavish the same on her, on their children? Love? She had nothing left to give him, just as he seemed to have withheld affection from her. All those years, wasted!
You tell there was no waste. She lived a life. She gave presence to her family. She had four children. She had the love of many people, if not that of her husband. You told her she is a lovely woman in every sense of the word. She has to find herself, her place in this new world that circumstances have placed her in. You know she can do it, because she is strong, she is determined.
She is woman.
posted by Pieface @ Wednesday, May 03, 2006
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