SILVER LININGS - by Al Sturgeon
BEST FRIENDS FOREVER
It was a hard night when my eight-year-old daughter heard the news of how our house fared in Katrina. She cried, of course, but we had some good talks. Between tears, I actually made her giggle a little bit, and I knew there was hope.
It was a hard day the next day when she saw her wrecked house for the first time. She was the only one of the four of us to cry that time. I wanted her to see the house, but I didn't want her to get too close to the windows. I was afraid she would see certain toys and memories in her room that would break her precious heart, so I kept her in the yard at a distance. In a cruel twist of fate, it was there that she saw the lid to the shoebox that had held her prized "bouncy ball" collection. On the lid, in unmistakable kid handwriting, a magic marker had exclaimed, "DO NOT THROW AWAY." In spite of her daddy's wishes, this broke her heart anyway.
Then she was good.
At least that's the way I read her for the longest time. By the weekend of that first week after the storm, she was whisked away to Arkansas to live with grandparents and attend the school I attended when I was her age. She was the star of the show up there. Poor, homeless Hillary. Al's daughter. She ate this up.
Hillary went on an adventure picking cotton, compiling a video project for her Connections class when she returned to Ocean Springs. She made all sorts of new friends, including an entire class that signed a going-away picture for her at the end of her three weeks with them.
Then, she returned to Mississippi where it didn't seem she had missed a beat.
School resumed at Magnolia Park Elementary, and life was good. We found it odd that Hillary's kindergarten teacher, 1st grade teacher, and 2nd grade teacher all lost houses just like her. At least Mrs. Jones was spared the same fate. Nonetheless, Hillary jumped right back into school and hit the ground running.
At the same time, she seemed to be handling our new up-in-the-air lifestyle beautifully. Sure, it disturbed me when her letter to a pen pal in Chicago began by her saying that Hurricane Katrina had changed her life because her daddy worked a lot longer now than he used to work, but I chalked that up to things that shall pass. And when on occasion, we went to see our gutted-out house, she seemed amazing at how she handled the situation. She would see old toys or shoes or movies ground into the ditch, and it fascinated her. She'd practically squeal with delight when she found something she recognized, like a treasure hunter discovering gold.
I missed totally that she was lonely. It was an early November afternoon when she broke enough that I could see it.
"The Group" formed in second grade when Hillary, Christina, and Reagan declared they would be BFF (little girl code for Best Friends Forever). They formed an interesting group: Reagan, the outspoken-yet-undeclared leader, Christina, the quiet one, and Hillary, the glue. They were as tight as second-graders could possibly be, so much so that their separation into different third grade classes did not destroy their connection. They looked for each other at school, and called each other on the phone.
It was only about three weeks into the third grade year when Katrina declared a month-long school break. When the dust settled, or more when the waters receded, Reagan did not return to school. Her family is a military family, and they must have been reassigned. We don't know where. More importantly, Hillary and Christina do not know where.
It was the afternoon I mentioned earlier when everything came apart at the seams. Hillary asked if she could tell me a secret. When she asked, I was busy as had become usual, but I noticed she asked with that sweet, strong look on her face that said, "I'm trying to be like you, but I really need to burst into tears." I told her that she could tell me a secret. Before she got out that Christina was moving to Iowa, I had her in my lap, letting her know that she could fall apart and cry so much that it leaves a water line.
The heart-breaking statement I remember was (my heart breaking that is), "Daddy, it is so hard to lose your two best friends."
Yes, I suppose that it is.
We lost a lot of stuff, but we're replacing that stuff. In particular, we lost a house, but by the grace of God, we ended up with a better one. But a storm came and stole Hillary's two best friends away from her. And that's just not right. I don't care what you say in return.
Christina has not moved yet, but tonight Hillary wears a homemade bracelet that reads "Forever" on it. She claims that she's not taking it off except for baths and showers. When I peeked in on her sleeping this morning and saw that round, gaudy piece of paper tied to her little wrist, I just about lost it. Innocence should never have to be removed. I can tell that she's trying to follow my advice, to enjoy every moment left with Christina instead of mourning in advance. But the day is coming soon. I dread it like cancer.
I know there are reasons behind everything. I have full faith in that. I have to, because left to what I see sometimes, everything else just sucks.
It was a hard night when my eight-year-old daughter heard the news of how our house fared in Katrina. She cried, of course, but we had some good talks. Between tears, I actually made her giggle a little bit, and I knew there was hope.
It was a hard day the next day when she saw her wrecked house for the first time. She was the only one of the four of us to cry that time. I wanted her to see the house, but I didn't want her to get too close to the windows. I was afraid she would see certain toys and memories in her room that would break her precious heart, so I kept her in the yard at a distance. In a cruel twist of fate, it was there that she saw the lid to the shoebox that had held her prized "bouncy ball" collection. On the lid, in unmistakable kid handwriting, a magic marker had exclaimed, "DO NOT THROW AWAY." In spite of her daddy's wishes, this broke her heart anyway.
Then she was good.
At least that's the way I read her for the longest time. By the weekend of that first week after the storm, she was whisked away to Arkansas to live with grandparents and attend the school I attended when I was her age. She was the star of the show up there. Poor, homeless Hillary. Al's daughter. She ate this up.
Hillary went on an adventure picking cotton, compiling a video project for her Connections class when she returned to Ocean Springs. She made all sorts of new friends, including an entire class that signed a going-away picture for her at the end of her three weeks with them.
Then, she returned to Mississippi where it didn't seem she had missed a beat.
School resumed at Magnolia Park Elementary, and life was good. We found it odd that Hillary's kindergarten teacher, 1st grade teacher, and 2nd grade teacher all lost houses just like her. At least Mrs. Jones was spared the same fate. Nonetheless, Hillary jumped right back into school and hit the ground running.
At the same time, she seemed to be handling our new up-in-the-air lifestyle beautifully. Sure, it disturbed me when her letter to a pen pal in Chicago began by her saying that Hurricane Katrina had changed her life because her daddy worked a lot longer now than he used to work, but I chalked that up to things that shall pass. And when on occasion, we went to see our gutted-out house, she seemed amazing at how she handled the situation. She would see old toys or shoes or movies ground into the ditch, and it fascinated her. She'd practically squeal with delight when she found something she recognized, like a treasure hunter discovering gold.
I missed totally that she was lonely. It was an early November afternoon when she broke enough that I could see it.
"The Group" formed in second grade when Hillary, Christina, and Reagan declared they would be BFF (little girl code for Best Friends Forever). They formed an interesting group: Reagan, the outspoken-yet-undeclared leader, Christina, the quiet one, and Hillary, the glue. They were as tight as second-graders could possibly be, so much so that their separation into different third grade classes did not destroy their connection. They looked for each other at school, and called each other on the phone.
It was only about three weeks into the third grade year when Katrina declared a month-long school break. When the dust settled, or more when the waters receded, Reagan did not return to school. Her family is a military family, and they must have been reassigned. We don't know where. More importantly, Hillary and Christina do not know where.
It was the afternoon I mentioned earlier when everything came apart at the seams. Hillary asked if she could tell me a secret. When she asked, I was busy as had become usual, but I noticed she asked with that sweet, strong look on her face that said, "I'm trying to be like you, but I really need to burst into tears." I told her that she could tell me a secret. Before she got out that Christina was moving to Iowa, I had her in my lap, letting her know that she could fall apart and cry so much that it leaves a water line.
The heart-breaking statement I remember was (my heart breaking that is), "Daddy, it is so hard to lose your two best friends."
Yes, I suppose that it is.
We lost a lot of stuff, but we're replacing that stuff. In particular, we lost a house, but by the grace of God, we ended up with a better one. But a storm came and stole Hillary's two best friends away from her. And that's just not right. I don't care what you say in return.
Christina has not moved yet, but tonight Hillary wears a homemade bracelet that reads "Forever" on it. She claims that she's not taking it off except for baths and showers. When I peeked in on her sleeping this morning and saw that round, gaudy piece of paper tied to her little wrist, I just about lost it. Innocence should never have to be removed. I can tell that she's trying to follow my advice, to enjoy every moment left with Christina instead of mourning in advance. But the day is coming soon. I dread it like cancer.
I know there are reasons behind everything. I have full faith in that. I have to, because left to what I see sometimes, everything else just sucks.
posted by Al Sturgeon | 5:59 AM
2 Comments:
Thanks Bob and Brandon and El Capitan. It helps a LOT - for me, at least - to just have someone grieve a bit with me. Come to think of it, I guess my doing that with Hillary can help a bit, too.
Just not enough.
"Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Right?
beautifully written, Al. the heartbreak of our children really is one of the most difficult things for us to experience. Children have an amazing capacity to love without holding back. They are also much more resiliant than we expect. Love you and your family much.
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