Littles at the Hospital

In my last post, I talked about some of the hardest parts of working on the hospital project, for me.  But as I mentioned, my kids were there too.  What about them?

I brought my kids with me the first day with the assumption that we would leave if it was too dangerous or too scary, and I watched. Very. Carefully.  We stayed.

Throughout it all, Little Miss spent most of the time either on my back, or sleeping/ coloring/ watching Her beloved Baby Movie in the car seat.  She is small.  So small, that I’m not sure She noticed too much- other than that She got to have her favorite snacks and do some of Her favorite activities from the comfort of Her favorite spots- the car seat and the carrier. 

 

She didn’t like too much attention from strange adults.  But She spent the great majority of Her time in the rooms being decorated, where no one could bother Her.  She did enjoy playing peek-a-boo and making faces with people on the other side of the glass windows.

And She did enjoy getting to see so very many babies- it was a baby extravaganza!
Babies everywhere! "Baby! Baby! Otha' baby! Aaaaallll the babies!"  
She slept a lot of the time.  She enjoyed the spectacle of the project.  Because She is smaller, I limited Her exposure quite a bit, but because She is shy, this suited Her just fine.  With Her sunny disposition, She was fun for the team to have around. 

Missy helping with stickers for the wall

Then there was Little One. 
Watching Little One’s reaction to the time we spent at this hospital is one of the most rewarding experiences of my life so far.  When we first walked into that place, the adults among us had to muster up our internal strength, the self-control we have developed over our years of growing up, not to react with expletives or grimaces or running away.  I’ve described why.  When we walked in, we saw a disgusting, filthy place that seemed overwhelming at first.  Little One. She saw an art project. 

 As soon as She walked in the door, Little One became at home in that hospital.  She helped paint.  She excitedly brainstormed ideas for future rooms- “Butterflies! Rainbows! Flowers!  Zoo animals!”  I cringed at first, holding Her over a paint can to pee.  She giggled. "This is so funny and silly!  It's a paint-can potty hee-hee!"
Us grown-ups saw these children whose bodies and faces had been burned and disfigured, we saw wounds and pain that wrenched our hearts. Do you know what Little One saw?   

Friends.    

She did not say “Dear God what happened to that kid?!” 
She said to me, “Look! Those children are about mine age.  Can I play with them?” 

Little One with some friends

And despite the fact that they had never met, despite the complete language barrier, despite having nothing at all to play with- that is just what they did.   She colored pictures for Her new friends and bounded into rooms, all smiles, to hand them out and shyly wave and smile at the parents who clapped and cheered and thanked Her in various languages.  She played with the children She was allowed to, holding hands and skipping, dancing, giggling.  She shared Her crayons and coloring books and play dough.  She demonstrated games on the ipad and encouraged everyone to take a turn.  At times She had entire rooms laughing; She was like a ball of sunshine streaming down the halls.  
The last day we were there She paraded through the wing, bestowing all Her stickers on everyone She could find.  

Stickering the masses

Looking around it seemed the patients had been struck with an epidemic outbreak of flowers, stars, and zoo animals.
And smiles.

When we left She emptied Her backpack, leaving all of Her crayons and books and stickers for the children at the hospital to share.   “Mommy we should give them everything.  Just everything, because they want to have fun”.  
I’m proud that She wanted to share.  I’m proud that She wanted to help.  But I’m inspired by the way She interpreted what She saw. 

She understood that the children were sad, that they were sick and hurt.  But She wasn’t afraid of those things.  She didn’t see the dirty bandages and the scar tissue, She saw the person underneath.    

In the same moment She saw the rooms we went into, She saw the possibilities- rainbows, butterflies.  In the same moment She saw the children, She saw the possibilities- hide and seek, trading stickers. 
Far from being frightened, on the days we were otherwise occupied Little One begged to go back.   

She is still missing Her “Hospibal friends”.  When we talk about it, She is proud that She got to make the rooms nice for Her friends, proud that She made pictures that they hugged and kissed and hung up in the slats of their beds.  If you ask what it was like at the hospital we visited, She will tell you it was fun. 

Part of that is because She is naïve and doesn’t know better.  She doesn’t understand that some of those children will never go home.  It’s hard for me to wrap my own mind around.  She doesn’t understand, really, how people suffer.  But it’s not all blissful ignorance.  It’s also the amazing ability a four year old has to see past the things we become conditioned to fear, and see the heart of things, the human side.  She doesn’t see a child that needs surgery, so much as a child that needs a friend. 

That power to see potential in everything, to see the human in every person, to see a friend in a stranger, and see what can be given instead of seeing only need- that is something I think any adult can learn from.   
And I think it was infectious. Little One wasn't the only one who got caught up in the bright side of this project.  But that's another story.