Six Maile Chix

I know that my recent posts have both been about Eva and Ane and particularly about things they've said about their Dad. But I keep a running list on my phone of things the girlies say or do so that I won't forget them when I'm later trying to write about them. I discovered yesterday that I'd missed writing about something else both of them had said. I'll write about Ane's first.

Several months ago, I think it may have been November, we were at our nephew's Primary Program presentation at their church, and were sitting a few rows in front of some of our other Maile family. Ane was just really starting to talk quite a bit, every day saying new sentences that were astounding and delighting us all. Up to this point she had never verbalized any feelings whatsoever about her Dad and his absence. All she'd been able to communicate was that she knew him by pictures and name. That was it. So my experience that day was a landmark and extremely memorable one for me.

Before we'd gotten out of the car she had been obsessed with this owie that was scabbing over on her hand. She was fixating on it and wouldn't leave it alone. As we sat in church, trying to be oh-so-still and reverent, she wouldn't stop saying, quite loudly, that she needed a bandaide for her owie. With Eva's constant bandaide usage for the first couple of months after Naki died I always had several boxes with me at any given moment. But since she'd stopped digging into her skin to make herself bleed, I'd stopped lugging all of those things around. Point is, I didn't have one for her. We made a little trip through the halls and found a first aide kit with, glory be, a spare bandaide. She was so thrilled. Now, instead of nonstop jibber-jabbering about the owie, all I heard was about this amazing bandaide. On one of the many times I tried to distract her about it, she just shouted out to me, "But I want to show Daddy my bandaide!". I started crying. She had never talked about Naki in any context before at all. It was such a shock to me. I had discussed so so many things with the other girls, but because Ane didn't talk I just said really basic really simple things, without any response at all. What a shock to my system to have her say that. I was ecstatic though, too, just like I mentioned in my other post, that she would think to include him in her present thoughts at all. When I tried to explain to her that Daddy wasn't here and that we couldn't show him right now, she loudly reached past my head and behind me with her cute outstretched arm and tried to get her Uncle Junior's attention to show HIM her bandaide instead. I found her immediate choice a obvious sign that my girls feel a close love with that boy because he makes them a priority in his life. Where would they be without their Uncle Junior.

Eva's story happened just about 3 or 4 weeks ago. But this story goes back to the night that our lives changed forever, the night that Naki sat up in bed with a shout and then laid back down, never to say another word. At that age Eva had a habit of waking up in the middle of the night and crawling into bed with us, and that night was no exception. After I'd called 911 I knew I didn't want her to see any of it, and up until that point she'd stayed asleep for it all which I count as one of God's amazing miracles in the midst of such a time when miracles seem so sparce and absent. So I carefully picked up her little sleeping self and carried her into Naki's office, which has a window that looks out onto the street. She was now a bit awake and I told her to stay there on Naki's futon and look out the window for the firetrucks. She wasn't supposed to get off and if I remember correctly, I told her to use her eyes to look for the truck's lights and to call out to me when she saw them. I tried so hard to not let my panic enter into my voice and to make it seem exciting so she'd stay there, even though it was horrifying in every way.

Fast forward to about 3 or 4 weeks ago. We were driving home from Grandma and Grandpa Maile's house, where they stay some of the days that I'm at work. If I remember correctly we were on our way home for naps. As we pulled up to a stoplight, we ended up right beside a firetruck, big and bright red. Even though they are a constant reminder of heartache for me, I still recognize the amazing good they do, and try to help the kids keep that childhood fascination with them that I once had. Why spoil it for them just because it's spoiled for me? So I said with some fake enthusiasm on my part, "Look Eva! Look at what's right beside us! Look how small our car is compared to how big and tall the truck is!" I was so proud of my false cheerfullness. But her usual response never came. I was surprised to find that she, too, had been faking it for a while. After a long moment of silence, she quietly said to me, "Mom? I wish that I could have stayed with Daddy dead in the bed instead of using my eyes to look for the lights on the firetruck." I was stunned into silence. My mind and heart simultaneously raced, trying to find the right response to her sweet and honest statement. I just felt that I should let her know that I agreed with her, and that I know she wishes she could have been where he was instead of moved away from him. I know that she doesn't realize the horror that she escaped by not being there with "Daddy dead", since he went through several hours of us trying to help him not be dead, but all she feels is that she was somehow robbed of being with him. It was a sad moment for me. I know I made the right choice. But still, it is hard to see her sad because of it. And what a surprise, once again, to hear someone so young put voice to something like that. I had no idea she'd remembered those details from over 16 months ago. These young minds continue to amaze me.