Sunday, April 14, 2013

A Little Princess

Saturday night on the purple couch in the basement watching A Little Princess, the 1995 version, while dad was out talking about life with friends.

You, daughter, sniffled through the whole thing.  For part of it you brushed my hair, but sniffled and cried while doing so.  There was just so much sadness.  I remember this when I saw this movie the first time.  I cried the same way.  I couldn't stop.  In many other ways, we are so different, but in this way, we're the same.

At the end, when the father still didn't recognize his Sarah as the police began to drag her away screaming "Papa! Papa!", son, your veneer of bravado and silliness fell away and your face took on panic and grief.  It's every child's worst nightmare, right there on the screen.  You gasped, briefly wailed and turned your face into my arm, and I realized my mistake in showing you this movie.  It was a terrible moment for me.  My heart was being pulled out of my chest and stomped on as I saw the fear in your face.

Within five minutes (or less), you both were okay.  The trauma had passed.  The father was reunited with his daughter and added another daughter to the family. 

Oh how I love you so.  Your heart is my heart.  Such deep grief exists in this life.  You know this already.  I can never do it perfectly, but I promise to always be here as you experience it.  Let out your wail, whether brief or long, and whether broken or not, my arm will be here for you to hide your face in.

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