What has come as a complete shock and surprise, though it probably should not have, is how hard Lily is taking the news. And when I say hard I mean, falling to the floor in tears, screaming, begging, pleading with us to keep our house here and let her stay, please let her stay, with her friends and at her school. Shouting, "I never, ever, ever want to leave Barbados! I don't want to live in another country! I want to stay here! Please do not make me leave Barbados!" Her tiny body shakes with each breath, every sigh of resignation met with a howl of heartbreak, tears don't streak her face, but turn it into a watercolor painting with swirls and smears, and wet curls on the fringe. She stops only to breathe and then comes back again. "I don't want my friends to lose me! How will they ever find me again? I don't want to leave my school. Please do not make me leave them. I want to stay. I want to stay. I want to stay."
On the drive home from our farewell party this evening I think it finally hit her that we were going, never to return as locals, but as visitors. That she would not have a school here and we would not have a home. My back was to her, but I reached to hold her hand. I only refused to turn to her because tears were streaming down my face and my heart was melting out of my eyes. When I was able to compose myself, I would look at her, look in her eyes and tell her that I understood. And I do.
We have made some incredible friends, had some wonderful times, after school beach sunset walks, swims at our private beach, impromptu swimming parties after lessons or after a friend's drop in. Lily has been loved by friends and by the parents of her friends like family. She has always felt safe, always felt free, always felt Barbadian. She became a big girl here. This has been the only home she truly remembers no matter how hard I try to press New York into her heart. Her heart is here. But when we go, we go together and our time here is done.
After our shower this evening, where Lily continued to pour her heart over my tormented soul, I finally stopped her gently and asked her if she wanted to try to talk about something else as I could see she was becoming quite hysterical. We talked about maybe getting a puppy or a kitten when we found a safe, new home and she said she would prefer a kitten. Suddenly, her bright, open face twisted and she asked, "But if we go away, where will the kitten go? What will happen to her?" I told her a little bit about kennels and how they care for animals when their owners are away and she asked what they did there and I told her about the animals getting groomed, and having snacks, and watching TV shows only about dogs and cats, and running on the treadmill and clawing at scratching posts. This seemed to lighten her spirits. She asked if we could hold hands and I said, "Always," taking hers on mine. We walked together down the hallway, holding hands until she asked, "When we go on the airplane, can I sit next to you?"
I know the whole "kids are resilient" spiel. I do believe it. But I also love, honor, and respect my daughter's feelings, even if she is a young child. And her little heart was near to bursting today. No matter what I offer her or use to comfort her, she knows she will experience a loss with this move and there is no denying that I know it too. We cannot stay in Barbados. This is the direction that our life has taken us, whether willed or not, and we must go. But if Lily's heart hurts, then mine does too, and I know that childhood wounds, unacknowledged, ignored, unspoken, can burn a hole in one's soul that is nearly impossible to heal. We will go this road together. And I will hold her hand and meet her eye and cry my tears too until both of our hearts heal.
Thank you to my friends in Barbados, who gave us a send off so filled with love and hope and community. We go together.
(c) Copyright 2011. City Mom in the Jungle.
