Hi there.
It was fun having your kiddo hanging on the swing next to mine.
Since your kid is pre-verbal, I know you had fun talking to my three-year-old. N is super-social and loves the attention, especially as the youngest child in our family.
So nice that you engaged my 3-year-old when she told you about “her baby” when she started telling you about him. You asked what her baby’s name was, and she said “Ronen.” When you repeated it, it felt good to hear his name come from someone else’s mouth. She told you that “Soon he’s coming home and I’ll hold him in the bouncy chair and he’ll watch Blippi with me.” Uh-oh, I think. We’ve had this conversation before. It always ends the same way, with me reminding her that No, he’s not coming home. He died. That means he’s “all done.” And although I knew what was happening, I didn’t stop her. But preschoolers don’t have filters; they talk about whatever they are processing. Maybe I should have given you a sooner heads up.
When you asked her, “Where is your baby?” N replied, “the hospital.” You seemed concerned as you made eye contact with me, but I didn’t grimace. “Oh, is this a new baby?” you asked innocently, smiling, looking back and forth between us.
Finally I interjected: “Sorry — she’s talking about her brother, our child who would have been 5. She has seen pictures in our house. She’s just processing.”
I stopped short of saying the words, “He’s dead.” If I hadn’t interrupted N’s conversation, she would have said it just that way. But you figured it out — I saw it in the complete shift in your demeanor. I heard it in the brusque, “Oh I bet that’s hard to adjust to for all of you,” as you walked away, taking your baby out of the swing next to my toddler and disengaging entirely from us.
I’m trying hard to figure out why this interaction felt so strange, so othering. If you had asked me probing questions, having never met before, would I have wanted to answer them? Probably not … but I guess I’m so used to the follow-up questions, it was curious when they didn’t come. Maybe it would have felt better if you had changed the subject but not bolted from the swingset. What I inferred may not be what you implied, but what I felt in your actions was “Let me whisk my innocent toddler away from these macabre weirdos.”
And … yeah, what my 3-year-old started talking about was weird. I know the conversation took a turn to a dark place you weren’t expecting from the smiley cutie-pie who still giggles in a baby swing. And maybe I’m extra-sensitive because every day the photos of my lost baby keep popping up on my phone. (Yes I know I can silence them; I don’t want to.)
I will probably never see you again and, if I do, I probably won’t even remember your name. I hope this doesn’t stop you fron engaging other smart, chatty 3-year-olds and their moms on the playground. But I’m also not going to teach my kiddo that her lived experience needs to be hidden from others. I expect to her to grow up comfortable talking about death, visiting cemeteries, processing her experiences in whatever forums work for her, and to proudly wear all aspects of herself on her sleeve. For her sake, I hope that those around her, even random grown-ups on the playground, will always treat her with compassion and curiosity, without rushing to judgment or running away.
Wishing you more questions than answers.
~ N’s Mom
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