a true story about belonging
She Brought Two Toys
One toy in each hand, running to find her best friend, who was already holding another kid's hand.
the realization
I couldn't fix who her friend picked that day, and hurrying her past it only made her fold up smaller. So I stopped moving her along and just sat down in it with her. The heavy thing got lighter once she didn't have to carry it alone.
She brought two toys to the park. One in each hand, running ahead of me to find her best friend. The second one wasn't even hers, it was a gift, picked out that morning and held very carefully the whole walk over.
have you ever felt this way too?
Then she stopped. Her friend was already there, holding another little girl's hand. Mia's chin dropped and she backed straight into my leg, that second toy still hanging from her fist.
My first move was to keep her moving. Go play with the others, sweetheart, you'll see her tomorrow. I said it kind, I said it easy, and I nudged her toward the swings. But the more I steered her away from it, the smaller she got. She just kind of folded down into herself.
So I quit sending her anywhere. I sat down in the grass right next to her and stopped trying to solve it. That one felt heavy, didn't it, I said. Like a stone. She leaned into my side and whispered that it still hurt. I know, baby. I'm right here. And she turned that toy over in her hands, slow, still leaning on me.
what I found myself saying
"That one felt heavy, didn't it. Like a stone."
"I know, baby. I'm right here."
"I stopped telling her to go play and just sat down in the grass next to her."
