In our four year old daughter's bedroom there is a beautiful queen sized bed fit for a princess, butterfly pictures, wooden letters spelling out her name that were hand painted by a dear friend, sparkly pink curtains and Strawberry Shortcake decals carefully placed by two little hands. There is a plush rocking horse that whinnies and flicks his tail when you push his ear. There is a book case with fairytales and baby's first books, Dr. Seuss and books about deployment. It is a beautiful safe haven for a little lady.
I sit writing this in the big comfy round Papasan chair that is in the corner of her playroom. It has a sheer tulle canopy hanging from the ceiling that goes the whole way around it. The room is decorated to look like a Parisian princess's playroom. I love it in here. She makes me things to eat at her kitchen, builds castles with legos, and mixes figures from Toy Story and Tangled when we're playing.
These two rooms remind me of what she should be focusing on. She should have no weight to carry, no stress on her little heart or mind. She is wonderful at play. She has such a wild imagination and I hope that never goes away. I love the silly things she comes up with, even if other people don't understand what she's talking about, we do. :)
These two rooms are all I can offer though. She now sees extra oxygen cylinders and portable cylinders in Daddy's office. She watches as new medications are introduced and put out of her reach. She listens to phone calls with doctors and nurses and case workers. She sees the hospital bed and hears the whoosh of Daddy's oxygen concentrator at night. She is familiar with the Hospice workers, as well as knowing Daddy's doctors by name.
She knows her Daddy is sick. We don't lie to our child. She is only four, so we're not in her face about it, but we answer her questions. Tonight was the second night she has said "I don't want Daddy to go to Heaven. If he does, I won't have a Daddy anymore". I thought I had known a broken heart before, but honestly no boy or man has ever really truly broken my heart. A four year old worrying about losing her Daddy did that. She knows quite a bit about Heaven and Jesus. We share our faith with her. We try to guide her little heart as best as we can. She truly does have a childlike faith. She has no doubt of where her Daddy will go if he leaves us, but no little girl wants to lose their hero. Their first love. The strong arms that have always held them tight no matter what. There is nothing I can do to make that better. There are lots of social workers and therapists who offer help. No one can make her feel better about what may happen. It just plain sucks.
A little girl should be playing My Little Pony and drawing flowers and sunshine. They shouldn't be waking up in the middle of the night crying that they don't want to lose their Daddy. So we pray. We pray that Daddy gets better, that Daddy is no longer sick. She understands his illness in her own way. She knows that Daddy's cancer started in his toe, and for a while he had a constant cough. So she tells people that Daddy has a cough from his toe. She prays that Daddy's cough goes away. I can hold her, and reassure her that we both love her. That every day we have together is special and we should love each other and have fun. I promise her that no matter what, Daddy will always be her Daddy, and she is a lucky little girl because she has the best Daddy in the world.
My husband feels the pain of her fears. I can only promise him that if something happens, we will do the same things we did for deployments. I know that may sound silly or insensitive, but hear me out. I refuse to let my child forget. During a year long deployment some children become unattached or forgetful of the parent that is gone. There are tons of ways to fight that. A picture in every room. A Daddy doll to talk to when she feels like talking to him. Videos and pictures to watch whenever she wants. Talking about Daddy every day. Letting her voice what she is feeling and giving her an outlet when she is overwhelmed. I'm not a perfect mom. I struggle every day and feel like I'm failing more than not. I can tell you that I love her with all of my heart and it aches knowing what losing her father could do to her.
We don't dwell on Daddy's sickness. She has questions that pop up and we answer them. Most times she is right back to talking about Disney characters or making up sweet little songs. I try to remember when I was four. I can't say there are a ton of memories. I wonder what she thinks when she is analyzing things I tell her or teach her about what is going on. She is so thoughtful and analytical like her father. I love that. I love that when she is curious, she asks. Tonight she wanted to know about the thing that was making all the noise and the tube in Daddy's nose. A four year old, learning about oxygen and nasal cannulas. Feeling the rush of it coming out of the two prongs and taking everything in that I told her. After the lesson, she was satisfied and snuggled up to him to have her story read. Our new normal. Medical equipment mixed into our daily routine. Her taking it in stride knowing her Daddy is still her Daddy. He's not scary or different, he's just Daddy. I hope for a lot more nights of her crawling into our bed, cuddling between us, feeling safe. I want that for her for as long as possible. To tell the truth, I want that for me as long as possible.
Tomorrow night, I believe I should tell you a real life fairytale...
Goodnight.
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