Purchasing A Miracle

My son was only 3-years-old when his great grandmother died. At the time, he was living with his great grandparents. My grandmother, the lady in question was also the woman who raised me.

My son lived with them during the week and came home with us on the weekends. It was actually, my grandmother who had suggested it. She felt the travel to her place on the bus in the early in the morning and late at night to bring him back to our home was too much for a small baby. It would be even worst in the dead of winter.

So we decided that Steven should stay with her during the week and come home on the weekends, thus providing a good solution for all concerned. After all by the time I finished work, picked him up and cooked supper on a week night, it would be the time for him to get his bath and go to bed anyway. There would not be much quality time for bonding.

Steven bonded more with his great grandfather Bob than with my grandmother. She was the caregiver and Bob was the playmate; Steven idolized Bob. My baby was with them from the time he was two months old.

When my grandmother died everything changed. Bob was a World War II vet and very banged up from the war. He was in his 70's and in no condition to take care of a child. And I had to bring Steven home.

To make matters worst, I was now separated from my husband. Steven was thrown into a new world and new life style; neither of which he asked for or wanted.

A 3-year-old does not understand the concept of death. How do you explain to a baby that his great grandmother died and now his beloved great grandfather could not care for him? It simply is not possible. The only men in my son's life, his great grandfather and his dad were now both suddenly ripped out of his life. It just wasn't right but there really wasn't any other way. I had to take my son home. Bob could not care for him on his own and I had no other choice.

Steven had abandonment issues which were dealt with later on when we discovered this was happening. But for the time being, he was now alone with me and he hated it. He wanted to go home to his beloved Bob. It was a rough time for me, a young soon to be divorcee with a child who preferred to live elsewhere. As much as I would love to make my child happy and send him home to Bob, I could not.

The best I could do was to attempt to explain that Bob was too sick to have him there with out "Nanny", and just hope that one day he would understand.

That day came much sooner than I expected. As it happened, a friend came over and gave Steven some money to buy whatever he wanted. It was just some pocket change but to a child that could mean a lot of money in the candy store. Much to my surprise, instead of demanding that I take him right that minute to the candy store which I was not about to do, took took the money into his bedroom.

"What did you do with your money," I asked him. "You don't want to lose it."

"I won't mommy." he said. He ran back into his room and came out again with his piggy bank. "See, I put the money in here, he very proudly said."

"My, what a good boy you are," my friend said to him. "What will you do with the money once your piggy bank is full? Are you going to buy yourself a toy or some clothes, maybe even something for Mommy?"

There in front of us, my little 3-year-old announced that he was not going to do either of those things. He was going to buy himself a new wife for Bob so that he could go and live with him again.

Those words hurt more than anything I had gone through up until that point in my life.  My heart sank to the floor, neither one of us knew exactly what to say after that.

Even though my son prefered to live elsewhere; he was more mature for his age than I knew. He understood the concept of death, more than I realized. He even offered what he found to be a viable solution.