It´s not that hard to say goodbye

In reality the drive to the emergency room was short and quick. It only seemed long because of the crying and screaming. The not-knowing and powerlessness was the worst. The places my mind was going exacerbated the situation even more. Finally, we were back in the hospital. We had just taken him home that morning. He cried all day, but we thought it was normal newborn crying. My wife and I kept looking at each other for answers but only drew blanks. We were desperate, sleep deprived, and if it were something serious, he’d be better off if we caught it early.

Everyone was very helpful and understanding, but we weren’t getting any answers. He must have seen at least 6 nurses and 4 doctors. None of them was telling us anything conclusive. My fear grew each time another person was called to see him. I figured he was in danger if nothing was coming up with the routing testing. They were eliminating possibilities and calling in the specialists. We were following different people that took him into different rooms in their arms. It felt good each time a test came back fine. But that also meant it could be something far more complicated.

When the last doctor came in it seemed she was the one the whole staff was waiting for. Something told me she knew. Plus, what more tests could they run? She seemed cool and in control. I was impressed with the way she held him. She was calm and calmed me just by talking. I don’t remember what she said. It was in her voice and attitude. She was the mother of 4 which makes her the most qualified specialist in my book.  She examined him and then held him face down. He stopped crying and we noticed a very upset and angry face on him. I rushed for my phone but didn’t catch his mood in its full essence. She gave him to my wife and stepped out for a second. When she came back in, she said, “Ok guys, here is the diagnostic”. My heart sank. “You’ve got yourself a crier”. “And this”, she held a green, round pacifier in front of us, “is miraculous”. Since that moment on, they were inseparable.

I doubt there is one baby picture where he doesn’t have it in his mouth, or at least a hand. Many times, he had one in his mouth and another in each hand. We had several back-ups. He needed it to go to sleep and as soon as he woke up. It was one of the first things on the checklist when we went out and had to return for it many times. There are many scenes burnt in my memory where either my wife or I were on all fours looking everywhere for it at odd hours of the night because it fell through the cracks of his crib while he was sleeping. We’d never been so happy to see a Walmart off an upcoming exit as we desperately drove down a highway after he lost it in another city. We thought he’d never outgrow it and were preparing to see it in his graduation picture and wedding day.

My wife was convinced he was traumatized by the light treatment for jaundice. Her suffering was apparent as she relived the impotence of watching him kicking and screaming all alone in that box with bright lights. Her eyes teared up as she recalled not being able to console him in any way. His cries seemed to express a lot of fear and anguish. She says he returned different then when he left. He was taken to that treatment within 24 hours of being born, but moms always know.

He expresses his emotions with intensity. He flips his lid in no time. One moment we are having fun and out of the blue we just loose him. It takes a while to soothe him and bring him back. I am grateful for the authors that combine the experiences with their children and clients with science. Sometimes my wife calls me the Pablo whisperer. “He is lucky to have you”, is one of the nicest things I’ve ever been told. In reality, I am the one who feels lucky. I have been on a quest to heal my inner child in recent years. As I love my son and learn to be a better parent, I am also loving and learning to parent myself. It goes both ways because what I’ve learned with inner child work makes me more aware of how to raise them.

This is a huge oversimplification, but basically, what I’ve learned is that they just want to be felt. Most of the time they don’t know what they are feeling. And if they do, they don’t know how to deal with these emotions. For example, when another child hits them. They are not interested in hearing that it was an accident. They want their pain to be acknowledged. Simple questions like, “where did he hit you?” and, “does it hurt?”, help them make sense of what happened and feel felt. Plus, they are not reasoning when they are in the emotion. Try telling a well-trained dog to sit while he is engaged in a fight with another dog. Once the emotional part of the brain kicks in, we have to connect with that hemisphere before we can connect with the rational side. But once that shift occurs, it is an excellent opportunity to connect intimately with them. Specially when they do something wrong. Consoling and being there for them, followed by loving discipline are a much better way than to educate with consequences.

We recently watched Snoopy together for the first time. It was the episode where Linus’s grandmother announced her arrival in a week’s time and he was going through what seemed withdrawal because as his sister put it, “either you get rid of that stupid thing [his blanket], or she will!”. I don’t remember ever watching this but wondered if it was lodged in my subconscious. It was similar to the way I helped Pablo detach from his Mimi (don’t ask, it’s a mystery to us how he came up with that name). I told him that in five days’ time it would be time to say goodbye to his pacifier. Several times a day I reminded him what number day it was and how many days were left. He started saying it himself. He decided he would throw it in the garbage himself. He was ready to say thank you and goodbye but when the day came, he just threw it in there without saying a word. We hid the rest and braced for the worst. He had a hard time taking his nap and when he woke up, we saw the worst of it. I took him to the office next door. I figured I help others deal with similar issues; I could help him. We did some breathing exercises and with his eyes closed I lead him in saying thank you and goodbye to his life-long friend. “I pointed out he was wearing a green, Sesame Street’s Oscar shirt. It was a sign. Oscar was going to take good care of Mimi in the garbage can from now on. I could tell he was calmer by his expression and breathing. He was very excited to tell everyone back home that Mimi was with Oscar and even jokes about it now.