This morning one of Gabriel's toys went down the toilet. It was this horrifying moment, I saw it fall in just as he pushed the button to flush and said "oh no!" His immediate reaction was to reassure me: "It's ok, Mom, it's ok!" but it wasn't ok, and I watched his face crumple as he started to cry.
Oh, it was heartbreaking! I cuddled him on my lap while he cried and we talked about the possibilities for replacing it (it was a small Robin figure). "Can Aunt Rosanne buy one and bring it to me?" he asked. Um... no. But I can order it on Amazon and see if someone coming soon can bring it with them.
"God knew this morning that this was going to happen before it happened. The past turns into the president" (sic).
An hour later he was playing happily with other toys with his sister (a drama of adopting orphaned animals), and he didn't talk about it again, in fact he seemed completely fine. But I'm still upset about it... I feel responsible... I want to erase his sadness.
I have to learn that my kids are not as fragile as I think they are, that they are resilient. And I am still learning how to grieve.