Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Wait. What?

I'm tucking the twins in to bed tonight.  Medium Fry is having an especially hard time, wanting to have Popoki with her again.  She was in tears, telling me that she can't sleep without Po.

Small, Medium & Po (June 2009)
It was awful.

She was so upset.

I wanted so badly to make it better, and I can't.

I did the only thing I could.  I held her, we cried, and I prayed.  I firmly believe that, since God has promised that heaven will hold all that we need, Popoki will be there.

And so we talked to Jesus.  I told him how much we hurt, how much we miss Po, and how we wish we could hug and pet her again.  I asked him to watch over her for us, and to pet her head, scritch behind her ears and under her chin, and tell her how much we love and miss her.  And I desperately prayed that my sobbing little girl would be comforted.

I found Medium's stuffed kitty that she got for Christmas, Cobbler, and and told her to snuggle with him.

"I want my kitty with the white tummy, that's my Popo."


"I think it might be undewr my bed."

That's where I found it, and I handed it to her.  I managed to get her to lay down in bed and pulled the covers up.

I turned to Small Fry, who had hidden under her covers.

I heaved out a mock sigh.  "Well, I guess I don't have to tuck a Small Fry in after all," I said with great exaggeration.  She giggled and whipped the covers back.

"Popo will come back in fwree days?"

For a moment, my mind boggled.  Easter.  Oy.  Um, Po was certainly not the Christ.  "No, honey. She's not coming back in three days.  She's in heaven now, and she's going to stay there."

Small Fry's face turned impish.  "Fouwr days?"

"No.  She's not coming back."


I shook my head again.  She's bargaining with me?  Really?

"Ten?  Twelve?  Fouwrteen?  Fifteen?"

"No, honey.  Po isn't coming back.  She's in heaven with Jesus."

"How many days 'til she comes back?"

"She's not coming back."  I pulled up the covers.  "She has to stay in heaven now."

I moved to the door.  "Goodnight."  I didn't want to have this debate now.


 I looked at Medium.

"You fowrgot to say 'Now I Lay Me.'"

I recited the rote prayer with them.



Medium looked at me with great concern.  "You fowrgot to pway that I'd have good dweams."

"No, I didn't.  I prayed for that for both of you when we talked to God about Po."

"You hafta do Medium fuwrst," Small intoned seriously.  "Den me.  Dat's how you'wre supposed to do it.  Sep'wrate."

I smothered a chuckle, marveling at the resilience of children and their insistence on crazy routines. "Goodnight."


  1. Sounds like y'all are handling this as best as can be done. It's never easy to have to explain that things and people die, but it will be good for them in the end. Keep praying, cry when you need to, and you can never hug a child too often.

    1. Thanks. I feel a bit like I'm trying to find my way through a fog. Then again, a lot of parenthood feels that way.


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