A Child Stranger

A few weeks ago, I posted the comment "Sometimes something appears in your life at just the right time, for reasons that are only clear to you." Another such moment occurred in my life just yesterday.

It was another testing day in London for my youngest daughter- more of a check up than any real concern, but still a full day. Although necessary, the thoughts of sitting in that room for hours, the sounds, the smells, the bad decor and the trigger of memories, created a sense of claustrophobia, and a need for escape. As my daughter was led away by a trusted professional, I was left with a mound of psychological questionnaires to be completed "to the best of your ability and memory, Ms. Van Moorsel". I'm sure the look wasn't meant to be pretentiously sympathetic, but honestly, how many other parents had she handed the same clipboard to, with the same duty of questions to be answered. Why was I so grumpy? I had done this before. I knew the drill.

Trying to knock the chip off my shoulder as I settled into the task at hand, I was about one third of the way through my first set of coloured circles, when three rambunctious children- ages approximately 3-9- came roaring through the door, and proceeded to argue over the antiquated table top hockey game sitting on a pint size table in the middle of the already crowded room. Of course, my feet got stepped on, my clipboard was knocked off my knee, my concentration was instantaneously snapped. I tried to conjure up memories of my own experiences in trying to handle three children being dragged to a place where they obviously didn't want to be. This helped to quell the impatience building up inside of me- for a bit. The dad floated in and out of the room as he tried in vain to keep the kids under some semblance of control, while speaking to the receptionist, and then disappearing altogether, leaving the 9 year old in charge, as he had forgotten something in the car. I was starting to thaw a bit more as once again, I remembered being the parent of three young children and trying to be in three places at once, without looking like a negligent parent. When dad reappeared, he resumed his questioning of the receptionist, and then, with the announcement of a patient's name over the hospital intercom system, immediately told daughter number 2 (approximately 5 years old) that it was time for her test. Baby brother was scooped up into dad's arms; daughter number 2 stood frozen in the middle of the room and then began to sob quietly; daughter number 1 rushed to her side, gave her a hug, and promised her that it wouldn't hurt, and she needed to be brave just like the other times. Not only had my chip been completely knocked off my shoulder, and my paperwork forgotten, but my motherly instinct kicked in as I wondered how I could help this distraught family. Before I had time to act, dad, still trying to balance baby brother but now with daughter number 2 openly sobbing and gripping his arm like a vice, disappeared out the door and down the hall.

I must have been openly staring because as soon as daughter number 1 sat down in one of those pint sized chairs, she looked up at me with tears in her eyes.
"She always gets scared when she has to have her MRI. Even though she's had so many, she doesn't like them. She has a brain tumour you know, and it makes me sad to see her scared."

Not only thawed, but completely melting in a pool by my feet, my heart went out to this child, forced to grow up too quickly. To wonder about the injustice of such a situation would drive any family mad with the question "Why?". For me, the "why" of their situation was answered when I listened to that 9 year old girl openly proclaim her love for her little sister. I needed to hear that on this particular day. I needed to have my faith and belief in the love we have for the people in our lives once again restored. That family, faced with the fight of a lifetime, gave me two gifts yesterday- the gift of perspective, and the gift of appreciation- and for that I thank them.