When I taught English about 20 years ago, I used a story called, “Explaining Death to the Dog” by Susan Perabo. It is the story of a family whose child dies and a grieving mother who seems to come to terms with her own tragedy through her relationship with the dog. The dog grieves. The story ends on a sad note but in a way that sums up the complexity into a single concept:
But Stu was still sniffing around the room, trying to pick up the scent of the baby, and I realized he would never understand death. All he would come to understand was that the baby was not coming back.
I think about this now when I talk with my daughter about Ethan’s issues, or when I hear her talking about things Ethan related. I wonder how much she grasps and how it affects her. For me, there is no word that describes my feelings. It’s simply haunting. I have no way of using words to explain to her anything other than facts, and what does a 9 year old girl make of the these sophisticated concepts and unidentifiable emotions she has been given.
B. has lived through some tough times with Ethan. She has seen him at his very worst, and believe me, that can still be quite traumatic for me, and I feel like I’ve seen it all at this point. She’s experienced Ethan’s suicidal threats, threats of harm to her and the family. She’s seen him running away from flying piranha and scream that blood was running out of his leg. She’s seen him destroy his toys, her toys, and parts of our house. She’s seen police come to the house. And she always seems to take it like a champ. On occasion, she breaks into tears, crying that she misses Ethan. Other times she seems to show no ill effects of the turmoil through which she lived and the chaos that is our current lives. She hears terms like Autism, bipolar, OCD, and anxiety bandied about, and has visited boarding schools and hospitals, talked with therapists, psychiatrists, and doctors. And all she does is continually express love for him and a desire for him to come home.
I constantly feel guilty for what she has been through. It seems we spend all of our time struggling to help Ethan. I try to have Breckin and Dad time every day, and I have played more Minecraft than I ever want to play. And when we do play Minecraft, she’s mean. If I take her somewhere like the movies, I feel guilty because it costs money, and we are fundraising for Ethan. How can I spend that money? Luckily, we still have gift cards lying about because Breckin never asks to spend money; Ethan asks to spend money daily. I remember all the rewards and motivations that we have provided for Ethan, and I’m racked with guilt over what she hasn’t had. I remember our vacation this summer, even though it was relatively free, and I can’t help but feel guilty. How can I take this time off while Ethan sits in what amounts to a minimum security prison? And how can I feel guilty because I’m worrying about Ethan and not spending enough time with her? How can I explain all of this to my daughter?
Now we move towards a new placement for Ethan, it means a likely move for us. It’s what is best for Ethan, and it’s what is best for me and Melanie, but it’s not necessarily the best for B., but I know that she will be supportive. She may even be happy. My parents moved when I was in high school. It was exciting, but ultimately, it was a difficult transition for me, so I’m aware of the sacrifice she will be making. We’ll also likely move farther away from the rest of our family, many who live within an hour now.
Right now, she may just be the glue that is holding us all together, and I know I couldn’t explain that to her either.
To read the entire Perabo story, check out the Missouri Review.
We have raised over $11,500 so far in our GiveForward fundraiser. This is incredible but unfortunately just a fraction of what we will need to fund Ethan’s placement in a therapeutic boarding school. If you can, please consider donating, even if it’s only a dollar or two.
Twitter: @ethansnotalone #ethansnotalone @willckline