My daughter, Sun-Hee Acadiana, looks up at me with huge, tear-filled, almond-shaped eyes and a look of sheer terror on her little face. She grips the twin handle bars of the brand-new red tricycle she got from her tante Crystal.
I can understand the fear she feels: learning to ride a tricycle is a daunting task for ANY small child. The child is scared because he or she isn't so sure as to whether they are going to topple over and if they do they are going to wind up being seriously hurt. And they don't like the wobbling sensation that the tricycle is giving them as they mount the seat and then put their feet onto the pedals.
I try my best to reassure my small daughter that it is okay to fall off; all she has to do is dust herself off and get back on and try again. It is not easy to learn, and learning how to do it takes a lot of practice. To further comfort her, I tell her of the time I learned how to do it when I was a little girl like herself.
I watch Sun-Hee bite her lip as she tries to do as I instruct her to; but then she leans too far back, and promptly winds up falling off, right onto her little bottom. Of course, the tears and howls start.
I quickly go over to her, and I pick her up and I give her a hug and a kiss; and told her she was doing a good job, and tell her that it was okay that she fell; she would do better next time. She then gives me a look that tells me that she isn't so convinced.
Looking at my small daughter trying to master the tricycle is similar to the feelings I got whenever I think of the time when our oldest daughter, Lightning, graduated from high school and then met and fell in love with a man from Colorado. She then expressed her desire to be with him and then discussed the possibility of marriage.
A huge lump formed in my throat when I thought of the time when Lightning left home for Colorado. I was especially scared and worried because Lightning had cerebral palsy and relied on forearm crutches for walking (or a wheelchair for longer trips; her balance wasn't that good), and I was so sure that she would fall and hurt herself badly. Now I was feeling the exact same emotions as I observed little Sun-Hee and her attempts at learning to ride the tricycle. Like it or not, Sun-Hee was growing up; all of my children were. Pretty soon, before I or my husband would realize it, one by one, our children would eventually spread their young wings and fly, leaving the nest (and us, their parents) behind, ready to embark on life's journey on their own.
I get this feeling each and every time I think of my dear, precious children growing up--and nothing can be done to stop it from happening. Every day they are growing--physically, spiritually, mentally, emotionally. Each and every day they are learning and mastering new and exciting things, and each and every day brings a new set of adverntures for them.
I also get a lump because some (like little Johnny) won't get that opportunity--to grow up. Johnny is dying, and every day brings us closer to that sad time when we have to say our final goodbyes to him. We think of him lying in that hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and machinery, and the alarms sounding off as he inches closer and closer towards death; and it is then when I start to cry because I or my husband don't WANT to say goodbye. This little, blonde-haired, blue-eyed wisp of a child with the soft, kissable pink cheeks is someone we can't possibly forget, as he has brought us so much joy into our lives. He will never get the opportunity to learn to drive a car, go on his first date, get married or have a family of his own; it is because of the terrible neuromuscular disease that is attacking his fragile little body, a disease that has no treatment or cure.
Johnny isn't afraid of dying, but it is still quite painful to think about. After all, Bill and I have lost our 3 biological children; we know just how painful and devastating death can be, especially if the one who died was a little child who didn't have a chance to grow up. We didn't want to let our children go when they died, but we knew we had to, in order to go on and realize that death is as much a part of life as is birth; it is a normal part of life's process.
Such as is in the case of children growing up and moving out on to their own.
But I just hope that they realize that, as they go on their journey, we, their parents, will be there, too, each and every step of the way, up to the time they die (as was in the case of Pierre, Aron, and L'Acadia--and will be in the case of Johnny).
That is what being a parent is all about: being there for their children, even when the journey isn't so easy or uneventful--and even when a child is very sick is facing the probability of death.
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People have to "let go" at certain parts in their lives, be it by a child leaving home, a child going to school or to college, a child getting married, or a child dying; this was what I wanted to convey in this story, as the woman writing the story has experienced each of these events. I hope you enjoy this story. I enjoyed sharing it with you.
--karen lynn vidra.
Let this coming of age story of a boy named Bean take you back to a simple time. Set in a small southern town in the 1960's, encircled by a river and gleaming white cotton fields.
A wicked Cajun Fairy named Robes Pierre entered the impenetrable Magical doll land of Sha Bebe. Queen Faustina, the ruler of the doll land, thought she had destroyed him, but he's back! Will the doll land survive his evil ways?
