Charlotte let go of the handle on her bee scooter and leaned back. Moments earlier my one-year-old niece had climbed on to her bee. The wheels on the bee are casters making it the perfect scooter for being pushed around the kitchen. We had just met that afternoon, but she looked up at me with anticipation anyway.
Then, I took the bait and pushed her around the kitchen. She wanted to go fast and put her feet up so they wouldn’t drag. We went around a corner, and one hand came off the handle. I kept going. As we sped up on the straightaway, Charlotte let go with the other hand, and she leaned back. I tightened so I would be ready to catch her if she fell and kept going.
Again
I tired quickly not being used to bear crawling at a fast pace. However, as I caught my breath. She said, “Again!”
I circled the kitchen once more.
“Again!”
Every time I stopped that word came out. “Again!” I brought one last bit of energy to go around and around the kitchen as fast as I could. Her hands came off at the turn again, and I kept going. She giggled and almost fell off.
Memories of my own children flooded my imagination
Eventually, I collapsed on the floor exhausted. She was satisfied. The universe was held in that moment. I had earned the trust and respect of a toddler by loving her as fully and sacrificially as I could. Memories with my own children flooded my imagination. In a different universe, I put them in a laundry basket and would fly them around the house.
After falling to the floor, I looked up at Charlotte’s eyes and asked her. “How did we get here? How did it change from where you are to where I am?” She looked at me in silence. “Why can’t life stay like this? Why do you need to learn what pain is, what loneliness is, what depression is, what death is, what grief is?” How did I let Elliot fall? Where was I, and why didn’t I catch him? My toddler niece stood in silence looking me in the eye while I wept. She didn’t comfort, condemn, or absolve. Nevertheless, she was present. Now I was letting go of the handle with both hands and leaning back. She was there to make sure I didn’t fall.
