A Tiny Tragedy
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- 23
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Saturday. Late morning. We arrive at Turtle Pond. Two girls smile and skip. The grass is green and ready for us. Sunshine shimmies above, and around. We find a spot, a good spot, under a big tree. We spread out a blanket, plaid, and sit. We unwrap sandwiches Daddy made. Turkey and cheese. Little ones sip from juice boxes. At lunch with us? A tiny stuffed turtle named Tuck. A little stuffed bunny named Ruby. Lucky guests at our family picnic.
Big girl stands and does the pee dance. I have to go potty! A strong guy, her father, scoops her up. Little girl chants, Coming too! This mother sits on picnic plaid, amid turkey shreds and bread crumbs and watches her creatures go. Little legs wrapped around a broad and tapering torso, feet kicking, hands flailing, dangling turtle and bunny. Bye bye, Mommy! Sweet words trail them.
Soon, they are back. And big girl is wet with tears. Her turtle is gone. Went swimming in a feces-coated Central Park public toilet. Was rescued briefly only to make a swift plunge into the trash. This girl is inconsolable. She collapses onto this mother’s lap, shaking with sobs. And we stand and walk to the dock. To see the ducks and the turtles and the life.
We will get a new Tuck, this mother says, foolishly says. It will be exactly the same.
Behind her simple and desperate words of reassurance, this one mother wonders about something big. Loss. It will happen. It will happen with things more consequential than tiny turtles. It will happen with things and creatures and places that cannot be replaced. This mother knows this, and deeply, because she has lost things. Important things.
But for now. This is hard enough. A little girl quaking at the loss of a friend. An untimely goodbye. A small and cruel snapshot of what’s to come.
She is okay. I am okay.
(Are we ever really okay?)
It’s just a toy turtle. It’s not just a toy turtle.
(Is it ever just a toy turtle?)
I love you, Toddler. You are my brilliant babe, so strong and so sensitive, keen already to the lessons life has no choice but to teach us.
R.I.P. Tuck (#1)
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- Did you lose any cherished toys as a child? Have your children lost anything dear to them? How did you deal?
- Do you agree that life is a constant lesson in love and longing and loss?
- Do you think Husband did the right thing by tossing Tuck? (At first, I thought the poop-slicked little guy should have been brought home for a bath.)
- Do these tiny tragedies make you think about the bigger instances of loss in your life or is it just me?
Oh no! I know he can’t be replaced, but as the purchaser of Tuck #1, just a fyi that he has identical twins at FAO Schwartz.
No, she didn’t lose Thomas her very favorite big turtle from her Aunt J! Thank goodness
Tuck is one of the Wonder Pets and, yes, was dearly beloved. (We have a fair number of turtles chez Rowley these days.)
It’s not ever just a toy turtle, but we are really okay. As tough as loss is as a child, as much as she may mourn the loss of this friend, it will make her stronger. She will learn to be okay when times get tough, she will learn to make it through to the sweeter peace on the other side of loss.
It isn’t something we would ever wish for those we love, but it is a life lesson that, as cruel as it may sound, is best learned young.
Many hugs to your sweet little one.
I am sorry to laugh because I see the bigger point you are making, but this is so classic and sweet and I can feel your pain and hers. Oh, sweet little girl.
Tuck is my favorite wonder pet too. Tell toddler he had to go and rescue some animal friends.
We never want to see our children get hurt but part of being a parent is teaching them how to deal with loss. If we don’t teach them coping skills we end up crippling them.
But that is sort of a bigger issue that has to be done in an age appropriate manner.
Oh, the sweet and poignant lessons your Toddler learned that day. Even though her stuffed animal was stuffed, it obviously meant a great deal to her. Much like my daughter’s blankets are her comfort during the day and the night. To read about her pain is, really, a true account of what happens to each of us when we experience other tragedies–whatever that might be.
R.I.P Tuck