Our village experienced another tragedy yesterday. This
little town has had more than its fair share of heartbreak over the years, and yet
here is one more. A four-year-old girl who lived right down our street died
from a gunshot wound.
This post is not about what happened or how it happened. This
post is about The Little Girl herself and her relationship with her great-grandma.
We have lived in our home for 22 years, and have been friends
with the neighbor a couple of doors down for just about all of that time. Our
friend and neighbor is also the great-grandma of The Little Girl.
Our neighbor spent a lot of time with The Little Girl, as
she was the go-to choice of babysitter for The Little Girl’s parents. Great-grandma
was very happy to spend as much time as possible with The Little Girl, and they
forged a close, loving bond.
For a time, The Little Girl’s parent lived with our friend.
This made great-grandma even happier, since she spent time with The Little Girl
every single day. Eventually, the parents found an apartment just down the
street, so The Little Girl still spent a lot of time with great-grandma.
My wife often stops at our friend’s home to visit,
especially on nice spring and summer days when they can sit outside under a
tree and talk. As a result, my wife got to know The Little Girl much better
than I did. I would wave to The Little Girl if she was outside as I drove by,
and that the was the extent of my contact with her for a time.
I heard stories from my wife and our friend about how bright
The Little Girl was. “When you talk to her, you can’t believe she is only
three,” they both told me. “She really talks as if she were much older.” I was
intrigued by the notion, but remained just a little bit skeptical.
We enjoyed several campfires in our yard last summer, and
each time we did, we always invited our neighbor. The first time she came over
for a fire, she brought The Little Girl with her. As I saw them walking across
the yard, dimly illuminated by a street lamp, I thought to myself that I will
finally get to meet this child prodigy. I was not disappointed.
The Little Girl’s sentence structure and word choices were
not characteristic for a three-year-old. Heck, they weren’t even characteristic
of a much older child. I can honestly say that talking with her was a lot like
talking to a tiny adult. It was almost eerie!
The Little Girl knew what she liked and what she didn’t
like. Great-grandma always came to our fires after the hot dog roasting portion
of the evening had ended. She came in time for the s’mores, though. The first
occasion that The Little Girl accompanied her to the marshmallow-toasting segment
of our campfire festivities, The Little Girl did not want a s’more - she just wanted toasted marshmallows. She
said she would not like a s'more, and after taking a bite of great-grandma’s, she
validated the hypothesis. “I only like
the marshmallows," The Little Girl confirmed. Ah, the kid was a campfire purist.
When ever the neighbor brought The Little Girl to our house
for a visit, she always enjoyed our friendly cat. We have three cats. Most cats
run to safety when the doorbell rings. Not our orange and white cat. When she
hears the doorbell, she runs into the living room, jumps onto the back of the chair nearest the door, and awaits the new visitor who will surely pet her. The Little
Girl always did, and then found every cat toy in the room in an attempt to get the
cat to play. The cat often got tired out during The Little Girl’s visits, and would
wander off into another room for some peace and quiet. The Little Girl was very
energetic as most children are at that age.
This past Halloween, The Little Girl was sick and unable to
go trick-or-treating. About five days later, the doorbell rang while my wife
was in the shower. It was the neighbor along with The Little Girl, all dressed
up in her Halloween costume. They were doing some “make up” trick-or-treating,
and The Little Girl held out her pumpkin to me, looking hopeful that I might
have some candy left. I told her I don’t let sick children in the house. She
assured me that she was better, and held out that pumpkin again. Since we always
buy enough candy for six times the actual number of trick-or-treaters we get, we
had plenty of candy. I dropped one “fun size” candy bar into her pumpkin. She
looked at the lone piece of candy, then looked at me expectantly, a sly smile on her face, knowing full well
I was holding out. I grabbed the bowl of candy from the kitchen and dumped
several huge handfuls into her pumpkin. The Little Girl’s face erupted with a
big smile, and she told her great-grandma that they could go home now.
In more recent visits, The Little Girl had taken up a new hobby
of jumping out from behind the door and shouting, “Boo!” This usually caught my
wife by surprise, which delighted The Little Girl. The last time I saw The
Little Girl, she was in the living room with my wife and our neighbor. I was
watching TV in the family room, and I could hear the three of them creeping
through the kitchen. I knew what was coming, so I prepared myself. When The
Little Girl jumped into the room and shouted, I slowly looked at her and said, “Ahh,”
in an unemotional, matter-of-fact tone. She thought that this was hilarious, but then
jumped when I suddenly shouted, “Boo!” to her. After her initial surprise, she laughed at the fact
that she ended up being the recipient of the shock rather than me.
Her last visit here was just two days before yesterday
afternoon’s tragedy. In accordance with the coronavirus social distancing
requirements, my wife would talk to the neighbor on the phone a few times each
week. On Tuesday while I was in the shower, the doorbell rang. It was the
neighbor bringing us some cupcakes that she and The Little Girl had made. My wife
reported that as she opened the door, The Little Girl jumped out and quite
effectively shouted, “Boo!”
Everyone mourns a tragedy, especially in a small
village like this one. Each mourns in his or her own way. I am sure the parents
are devastated. Still, my wife and I are both terribly concerned for our neighbor’s
well-being going forward. In an instant, she lost the most important person in
her life.
Social distancing makes this an even more stressful and
sorrowful situation. There will be no funeral, no visitation, no
goodbye.
When a young child dies, one wonders what that child might
have accomplished in her life. They wonder, and they mourn what might have
been. Right now, we are all mourning The Little Girl lost.
