Tender is the Heart
I suspect it won’t last. I suspect there will be days, weeks — perhaps even years — that I will recall this entry and wonder how it was ever possible. But, for now, I can say it, and I will: Zoe and Evan adore each other.
Sure, there are squabbles. There are times when one wants to be alone, times when they don’t cooperate, and times when the howls of disapproval are more than I can bear. But, those times are few.
More often than not, Zoe and Evan play excitedly, genuinely enjoying each other’s time. They play games only they understand. Giggles are theirs alone, secreted away from Mom and Dad in a united affront to parental involvement. She brings him a lovey when he needs it. He offers her a calming back scratch when she’s tired. She helps him find the words he so desperatly seeks to find sometimes. And he helps her find the courage to take on new challenges by simply making sure she’s not alone.
Most of the time, Zoe falls prey to the big sibling’s tendency to bos–er, lead — the play with intricate rules and fantastic scenarios, while Evan willingly follows. It may appear she’s taking advantage of him, instructing him and bossing him in a less-than civil manner at times. But, without him, there is no one to laugh at her jokes, to chase her around the yard, or to be Superman to her Wonder Woman. Of that, I believe, she’s keenly aware. In short, theirs is a relationship worked out to a perfection they both understand — and love.
I, too, was reminded of their special relationship, and their awareness of it, the other day. In one of their rarer moments of discord, Zoe brusquely turned away from Evan, hoarding her toy underneath her arm and shouted, bitterly, “I don’t want to play with you!”
I sincerely believe that Evan would have taken such news from any other person with aplomb. His cheerful, confident demeanor doesn’t usually have room for the hurt feelings of child-like tribulations. In any other circumstance, he would have simply left the scene, feelings entirely intact, and moved on to greener pastures of play. But, when these scornful words came from Zoe, someone far more than just a playmate, it was too much for even his resilient soul to bear.
I watched as Evan absorbed his sister’s painful barb. At first, there was silence. And then, from a quivering lip came a soulful response: “You’re mean.” The heartbreak in his voice was palpable. The quivering lip soon gave way to an eruption of tears. It was all I could do to keep from crying myself.
I’d never before heard the word mean uttered from the mouth of either of my children. It was painful enough to find out that the concept was known to my children at such a young age. Far more painful, though, was that one of my children had found meanness in the other. Evan’s sister had broken his heart, even if it was for only a moment, precisely because he loves her. My heart was broken, too, precisely because I love what they have together. A bitter, painful lesson, handed to us by somone we love.
Even though it’s every mother’s instinct to protect her children from pain, both physical and emotional, it’s also every mother’s fate to fail to bring that hope to fruition. It’s an unattainable goal, made impossible by the very love that drives our instinct. The same is true for any relationship bound by love — filial, familial, or otherwise.
I think Evan learned that very lesson the other day. And when Zoe gave him a hug and said genuinely and regretfully that she was sorry, I think he learned another lesson as well: when we’re handed a painful lesson by someone we love, there’s always the other hand to hold when it’s hurting so bad.
