Chapter 14 - EVA AND THE WORD DISAPPEAR
Eva began hiding things.
Not valuable things.
Her stuffed rabbit.
One shoe.
Crayons.
A spoon.
She would place them under her bed and say:
“Doesn’t disappear.”
Dr. Ward noticed first.
“What happened at dinner?”
Eva said:
“Celeste throws Mommy.”
The sentence hurt.
Not literally accurate.
Emotionally exact.
Then:
“Wedding gone.”
“Yes,” Dr. Ward said.
“Mommy stays.”
“How does Mommy stay?”
Eva opened the locket.
“Here.”
Then touched her chest.
“And here.”
Good.
No one taught her the second answer.
Children are capable of symbolism without adults turning it into doctrine.
Dr. Ward told me:
“Do not make every missing object an emergency.”
I had already started.
Eva could not find a plastic horse.
I called three staff members.
Grace eventually found it under a chair.
Dr. Ward said:
“You’re teaching her that loss is catastrophic.”
I stopped.
My fear had changed direction.
Celeste wanted to control disappearance.
May you like
I wanted to prevent all disappearance.
Both impossible.
