Yeah. She really said that.
And I tell you what…I could hardly see through my tears.
She was sad about her missing puppy Max. We say a prayer for him every night asking God to watch over him and keep him safe and keep us in his heart and mind so that he knows we are thinking of him and wish he was here with us.
Tonight she was particularly sad…and was having a difficult time letting it be. Some nights are better than others. Some nights it’s all ok, the way it is. Tonight that wasn’t so.
She was overtired for one thing…making her easily teary.
I told her that we could let God take our sadness and our hurt, just for the night so that we could get some rest and some calm in our hearts. And then we could take it back in the morning, but that God would hold it safe for us for the nighttime. She made sure to interject, when I was making the request to the One much bigger than me, that God needed to keep them separate…my hurt and her hurt. She didn’t want them to be mixed up. After I was finished, she was still teary. I talked some more about how God will always be with us to help us through the hurt and the sadness, but that we can’t change the things that have happened in the past. She talked some more about how if she just would have let them in that morning, then Max would still be here, that it was her fault and she should have just let the dogs in. And that perhaps if we had decorated the tree the day before, then this wouldn’t have happened because we wouldn’t have been distracted…and we would have let them in.
This had me at a loss. I tried to tell her that sometimes things just happen. And we never know the why of it. And there isn’t any way for us to go back and change the past…we can’t go back and fix our mistakes. This of course after I emphasized and reemphasized and reemphasized yet again that it was in no way her fault…I have no earthly idea where this came from. But I told her it’s like Simba…he felt guilty for his daddy’s death. She piped up right away with “it wasn’t his fault!” I told her that he felt like it was and he felt guilty and he couldn’t face the past or the rest of the pride because he hurt so much about it. But Rafiki helped him to see that you can’t change the past.
At this point, she rolled over, put her little hand on my face and said, in her sweet sing-song voice, “mommy, I don’t know what I would do without you.”
And that, right there, is the raison d’etre. The reason for being. There is simply nothing else.