So, Ophelia had a little boy next door that she played soccer with on a regular basis. He is six years older than she. Since September we haven't seen much of our neighbor and when we did and Oee would run over to ask him to play he was always on his way out, doing chores or working on homework.
Last weekend, Ophelia stunned me by breaking down with heartbreak. I was amazed. And, unprepared. And, amazed.
"Last week I asked P if we could play and he said maybe next week and next week happened alweady and he didn't play!" she moaned.
"I know, baby."
"He neveh plays with me anymohe. It feels like he doesn't even like me anymohe," she said, her voice cracking. And then, she came to me, hugged my leg, buried her face in my tummy and sobbed.
"Aw, Sweety. I know it's hard when people that we enjoyed stop playing with us. It happens sometimes. It's hard; but, you'll make other friends," I explained with my fortune-cookie cookie-cutter answer.
"But, I don't want any otheh fwiends, I only want P!" she wailed and wept, "Why doesn't he play with me?"
"Well. He's getting older now. You know when we visit C, you'd prefer to play with TJ than his baby sister, because he's your age and he talks better and pretends better and you enjoy the same things."
"P loved to play socceh with me! We had such a good time, togetheh," she cried.
"These things happen, sweety. He's older and he's probably spending more time working on his school work and when he does have some time, he probably wants to spend it on the phone talking to his friends or out with his friends."
"But, I was his fwiend," she sobbed, "and he huht my feelings."
"I know, baby," I said, running my fingers through her hair and she sobbed.
"It huhts me, Mommah," she said, pulling back with her big convincing eyes, "It huhts me for weal, wight in here!" And she pointed to the center of her chest.
I winced, "I know that feeling, sweety. It can be really painful, worse than stubbing a toe, hey? But, it doesn't last forever."
My five year old was sixteen, all of a sudden and I was completely unprepared.
"That's where your heart is, so it's going to hurt there, but giving Mommy hugs and thinking about happy things and playing with your other friends will help it."
"I am going to call him on the phone,"she whimpered, breaking into a wail, "and I'm going to leave him the saddest message eveh!"
"No, sweetheart. You've called, you've gone over, you've drawn him sad pictures of you with tears coming down, remember? He knows how you feel. He just doesn't want to play anymore."
"If he knew I was weally sad he would."
"Even if he knew how sad you were, he might not want to play, he might just feel badly. But, he's growing up, sweety and this is what happens."
"I just want him to think about me!" she wailed, "If he thought about me, he would wemember that we had so much fun!"
"I know, Ophelia. It really is something you just sort of have to accept. You feel sad about it for a while and you have some good crys and you remember the good times you had and you move on."
"I AM going to leave him a message! He can't just be my fwiend in the summeh and not play with me in the winteh! If I have to feel this sad then he has to feel this sad, too!"
Ah, the wrath of a woman scorned.
"Ophelia. P is not trying to be mean to you. He maybe should have called and explained himself instead of just not calling, but he's a little boy, too and he's just learning how these things work."
"Well, I will tell him! I will tell him that if he does want to be my fwiend he has to play in the winteh and the summeh and if he doesn't want to be my fwiend then he should tell me!"
"Fair enough. Next time you see him you can tell him that."
Oee broke down again, "I have two sad songs in my heaht and two movies in my head."
"Really? What are they about?"
"One is about Daddy (R, who cancelled on her for the second week in a row) and the otheh is about P..." she wailed and then sobbed, "But, Daddy is Sick so that's diffewent! P isn't sick!!"
"I know, baby," I said, feeling like a broken record. I deal with a broken heart as terribly as anyone else at 35, so how do I explain it to a 5 year old?
And then, it came to me.
"You know who is good at fixing broken hearts?"
"Who," she sobbed.
"Grandma."
And so, with a phone call and tears, we drove off, headed for my Mom's.
"My heaht is bwoken, Mommah," she sobbed as we drove, "It feels like it's double bwoken."
"I know, sweety. Remember when I said that grown ups feel pain differently than little girls? When you asked me if having a baby hurts? This is the part that hurts grown ups. When they get their hearts broken. And, it hurts little girls, too, but it doesn't happen often," I was thinking outloud, scrambling for reason and relief for my little girl, "But, the good thing about having your heart broken when you are little is that you learn how to deal with it better and then it gets easier when you are older."
"It does?" she whimpered.
"Well.. uh, yeah." I lied.
"Mommah?"
"Yeah?"
"That's nice that you ahe telling me all of that," she sputtered and then cried, "But, it doesn't make me feel betteh!"
"I know, baby," I replied, heading back to my vaguely consoling empathy.
"I'm going to have a long talk with P when I see him next time!" Oee said firmly.
"I am sure you will, sweety. And that's the best thing you can do. Just talk to him and ask him why he doesn't call to play anymore. But, remember that whatever his answer is, that is his answer. But, at least you will know."
Suddenly, it hit me. It was about closure. Good old desperately necessary closure.
I left Oee at my Mom's for the night and they had cuddles while Ophelia cried here and there.
The next day, I picked Ophelia up and brought her home. As we pulled into the parkinglot, she noticed P's Mom's car.
"I'm going oveh there, right now," she announced.
"Okay, baby."
I watched from my door as she walked briskly half way to P's house and then stopped for a moment and took the smallest, slowest baby steps ever to his door. When she returned, she told me that his mother had been home and he had not and she had told his mother, "My feelings ahe huht because I neveh get to play with P anymohe."
I smiled and asked what his mother had said.
"She said 'oh'," answered Ophelia, sitting on the couch, staring at the floor, thinking hard.
The phone rang and it was P's mother, expressing her surprise, adoration, concern and to let me know that P was going to call within the half hour. When I relayed this information to Ophelia, she pulled a chair up to the phone and said, "I'm going to sit wight heuh and wait."
"No, Ophelia," I explained quite literally, "You don't sit by the phone waiting for boys to call, do you understand. Find something to occupy your time and your mind until the phone rings; you'll hear it."
She went upstairs and I fell asleep on the couch for ten minutes until I heard the phone. Oee answered it.
"P. If you want to be my fwiend or you don't want to be my fwiend, you just have to tell me. I won't be fwustehwated. But, you have to tell me! I was vewy sad and my feeling wuh hurt."
Apparently, P had protested and exclaimed that he Did want to be her friend. He said that he'd try to be by the next day to play.
"What else did you two talk about?" I asked of their half hour conversation.
"Well, I just weally missed him, so we talked about all the fun we used to have."
The next day, P did not arrive at our door. Oee wanted to go to his home, but I told her that we had to leave it up to P, this time around. The end of that day was met with bitter resentment and then prayers.
The day after, yesterday, P showed up. Ophelia got changed into her winter gear as fast as her smiling little face could move and they spent two hours playing soccer and pretending about Kingdoms outdoors.
"How was it, Ophelia?" I asked when she came in.
"Good," she answered happily, "But, P said the 'sh' wohd."
"He did?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"And, what did you do?"
"I just ignohed him," she said, shrugging her shoulders.
"And that's it?"
"Yup."
"Was it fun?"
"Yes. I'm hungwy Mommah!"
Whew.
