Last night after dinner they were drawing together at their art table, one of their most peaceful pastimes, and all of a sudden I heard Ezra say: “You know, Arayla, that was really too many days for you to be in the hospital. I didn’t like it. It really didn’t work for me.” And Arayla, still focused on her drawing, nodded, responding soberly: “Yeah, I know. It didn’t really work for me either. It was a long time.” And Ezra said: “Yeah. And you know what? I really, really, REALLY missed being with you.” At that Arayla looked up at him and smiled lovingly. Their eyes met. Then she said: “Want me to draw you a picture?” And Ezra said: “YES. A shark and a boat?” Arayla took a new blank sheet of paper out of the stack, and said: “One shark and one boat coming right up, Sir.”
I’ve noticed the children haven’t wanted to speak a lot with each other about Arayla’s hospital journey. They’ve just wanted to recalibrate to one another, to play joyously as well as quarrel in familiar ways. Ezra( almost 6) and I definitely needed to process upon our return, and I’d say he and I are still finding our equilibrium in the wake of what was a pretty big disruption to our family field. And Arayla (9.5) and I have been speaking daily, many times a day, about her journey, what she learned, how she’s feeling now, what she received from the experience. But the two together have seemed almost resistant to speaking about it.