Maybe.
She’s not yet 4, and I must tell her that maybe, her Mama will die.
Today the word I struggle with in that sentence is Maybe.
What does it mean to a child? How may versions of maybe does she understand?
1. Can I have a cookie for dessert? Maybe, if you eat all your dinner.
She knows this one, I’m sure. If you do something first, if you do your part, then at the end you may be rewarded. It’s more of a deal, an almost-promise that gives her some power.
2. Will you let me stay up to finish the movie? Maybe, we’ll see how long it is.
This one’s more uncertain, not under her control. Long movie- short movie? The grownups know, she thinks, but they won’t tell her.
3. Can I get the puppy for Christmas? Please…please?… Maybe, I’ll have to think about that.
Even the grownups aren’t sure on this one, she thinks. They are deciding, worrying about stuff she doesn’t understand.
4. Will I be as tall as you are when I grow up? Maybe, we’ll just have to wait and see.
Can it be even the grownups don’t know? Only time will tell, but we can guess, and someone else might know, like my doctor.
So many maybes, so many meanings. But the one I am trying to explain is bigger than all of those. It’s the maybe that is unknowable… Not her parents, not even the doctors who are trying hard to save her mother. We cannot go on the internet, or ask the smartest person she knows. There is no google search for this. The answer to this “maybe” lies somewhere in the universe, somewhere beyond our comprehension.
“Does God know?” she asks, and I’m not sure how to answer. If I say yes, then she will want to ask him, and how do I explain his silence? If I say no, then we are even more alone than I can bear. Whatever is to happen, I cannot offer a God who is ignorant, who has no role in the most important event in her life. Who needs a God who has no clue?
We think uncertainty is familiar to young children. They do not understand so much of the world. We believe this makes them comfortable with not knowing, with the unknown I have to explain. But this is not true. Children put their trust in us. And in that trust lie security and safety. If the grownups understand, I am Ok. If they know how the world works and can answer my questions with a confident smile, I do not need to understand it all, they reason.
It is a fragile line I walk. How do I tell the truth, that I do not know what will happen, that no one does, that we are all as afraid as she is. I cannot share the last. That truth is mine to bear, and asking her to share it is unfair.
“This “maybe” is a really hard one, even for grownups” I tell her. “We can only be patient, and wait and see.”
Her eyes ask the question her lips do not dare.
“But I can tell you this for sure, love. Whatever happens, we will keep you safe. If Mama isn’t here to do that, then all the people who love you will be here to help.”
“But I will be sad.” she says quietly.
“We will be sad together, all of us, and we will help each other.”
“God too?” she asks.
“Yes, love, God too.”
Another beautiful and poignant piece of writing, Mary. All children need to know there will always be someone who loves them and will take care of them. That’s the answer they need behind the questions they ask.
I hope we’ll see more of your writing because it’s always wonderful, important, and thought-provoking.