My daughter was hurt yesterday.
As a parent you have to expect that your child will be injured. No matter how careful you are, no matter how many safety devices you install, they're going to get hurt. Bumps and bruises, scrapes and breaks. It's part of all of our lives. It's part of the deal.
But one of the craziest things about being a parent is how deeply you feel your children's pain. You expect to feel pain when you hurt yourself - but when they are hurt it's a whole other ball game. Their scraped knee makes your eyes mist over, bruises makes your stomach hurt, getting a cold or a terrible cough is like a bruise to your heart. But we learn to tough it out for our kids. We tell them it's ok, that it's not so bad, that it'll only hurt for a minute. We swallow back our own tears and, smiling, wipe theirs away. It's one of the super powers you gain as a parent - the ability to "make it better".
Sometimes, some horrible times, you have to face the fact that you can't totally fix it yourself. So we bring them to the doctor or the hospital. We teach them that even though medicine is yucky sometimes you have to take it. We bring their favorite toy or their blankie, we rock them, we sing to them. We make it better, even when we can't make it go away.
And then there are days like my girl and I had yesterday - hurts that go deeper than bruises. The hurts that come from words, the pain that comes from cruelty. We've all been through it - the shame of being made fun of, the tears you cry because you've been called a name and the painful disbelief that you, who are so loved just because you are you, are disliked because you're different. I wanted to rage for her, to scream and yell and throw things. But I couldn't, because that's not what she needed. So I held her while she cried it out, and I told her I loved her, and I promised her I would do everything I could to make it better.
I'll never be able to make it completely better - and as a parent that just breaks my heart. But I'm doing everything I can. I'm making phone calls and giving extra hugs, I drove her to school and made sure she'd be safe on the ride home. I'm talking to principals and gathering facts, I'm doing paperwork and making sure she knows how much we love her.
She's bouncing back, and that eases my heartache a bit. She'll be okay and that makes me proud. Her brother is being protective, her grandmother brought her a "feeling blue" gift. Relatives the world over have sent encouragement and love her way. And all of that gives her mama another reason to cry - the good kind of tears. Tears of gratitude and appreciation for everyone that took a moment to give her baby love.
She's curled up in her room with the book her grandmother gave her as I write this. Her brothers are playing down the hall and checking on her regularly. And her daddy - the guy that can make even imaginary monsters quake in fear - is on guard duty and plotting a sundae run to make her smile.
He's a smart man. Ice cream makes everything - even hurts like these - better.