You’re small, Vera. I know you think you’re big. And you are, relative to what you were. But even though you think you’re big (as you’re quick to tell me), you’re really not.
Yet there is a lot packed into that small body of yours. You have the uncanny power to bring such joy to people. To make us laugh. To give us hope. Life seems to be so alive in that little body of yours. And intense. Usually in a good way. But not always.
When you visited Friday, you became upset when you parents and uncle left to go to a restaurant. That was a first; you’d never been upset in this situation before. You wanted to go along. After all, that’s what big girls do — they participate in all the adult activities. But, as I said, you’re really not as big as you think you are.
I assured you that your parents would return, but apparently I wasn’t persuasive. It’s hard to persuade a two and a half year old of such things. They know what they see and experience. And you knew they left without you. And you didn’t like it. Not one bit.
After reason failed, I immediately went into distraction mode, realizing what I just wrote is true: the present experience is what matters. I didn’t try to convince you of anything; rather, I sat down at my desk and started watching a Peppa Pig™ video on my computer.
Immediately, from across the room, where you were looking out the window of my office, half expecting your parents to return for you I suppose, you turned your attention away from your disappointment. I knew you really like Peppa Pig (who doesn’t?) so I wasn’t surprised. But I didn’t push you. I simply watched the video by myself, trying not to let you see that I was checking in on you with quick glances.
It wasn’t long before you appeared by my side and wanted up on my lap. All was well.
We then had dinner and everything was fine. Later, after your parents had returned (just as I promised), you put on your shoes and then came over and landed a big kiss right on my lips, accompanied by a Vera hug.
The power of hugs and kisses never cease to amaze me.
Your hug reminded me of another hug. Upon returning home this fall following the out-of-state auto accident that could easily have claimed my life, I was greeted by a big hug from your dad. I didn’t want to let go. I had tears in my eyes. The good kind. The power of hugs.
You will get big someday. Perhaps just as tall as your dad. You seem to be certain of that. But perhaps not. In any case, I hope you carry some of your current practices with you into adulthood. I hope you never forget the power of your hugs and kisses.