Chapter 9
Rosie turned seven in the spring,
and she started asking harder questions.
We were sitting on the porch steps,
and she was eating a popsicle.
She looked at the mailbox,
and she asked about her grandmother.
She asked why we never went to her house,
and she asked if her grandmother was a bad person too.
I took a deep breath,
and I put down my coffee mug.
I knew this conversation was coming,
and I knew I had to handle it carefully.
I looked at her bright eyes,
and I chose my words with extreme caution.
I told her that her grandmother was not exactly bad,
but she was very confused about what was right.
I explained that sometimes adults get scared of the truth,
and they choose to protect the wrong things.
Rosie licked her popsicle slowly,
and she processed the heavy information.
She asked if her grandmother loved her,
and that was the hardest question of all.
I told her that love is not just a feeling,
and love is mostly about how you treat people.
I said her grandmother might feel love in her heart,
but she did not know how to show it safely.
I told her that my job as a father,
is to make sure she is only around safe love.
Rosie nodded her head,
and she seemed to understand the distinction.
She asked if we would ever see her again,
and I told her I did not think so.
She did not look sad about it,
and she did not look relieved.
She just looked thoughtful,
like she was categorizing the information in her mind.
She finished her popsicle,
and she wiped her sticky hands on a napkin.
She looked at me and said she liked our house better,
and she said it was much quieter here.
I smiled and hugged her,
and I agreed completely.
We did not need a large, chaotic family tree,
because we had grown our own strong roots.
Dr. Porter had told me to answer honestly,
and she said secrets create anxiety in children.
By giving Rosie the truth in a manageable way,
I was removing the mystery of our isolation.
She did not have to wonder if it was her fault,
and she did not have to carry any hidden guilt.
She knew the adults had failed,
and she knew I had stepped in to fix it.
Later that afternoon,
we planted new flowers in the garden.
We dug holes in the dark dirt,
and we placed the bright yellow marigolds inside.
Rosie patted the soil down firmly,
and she watered the plants with a green can.
She was growing and thriving,
and the scars on her arms were fading into thin white lines.
They were a part of her story,
but they were not the whole book.
I watched her wipe dirt from her forehead,
and I felt an overwhelming surge of pride.
She was brave and inquisitive,
and she was learning how to navigate a complex world.
I was not perfect,
and I made mistakes every day as a parent.
But I had gotten the most important thing right,
and I had kept the monsters outside the gate.
The sun began to set behind the houses,
and we went inside to wash our hands.
The questions would come again,
and I would answer them again.
But for tonight,
May you like
the curiosity was satisfied,
and the child was completely content.
