The Girl of 1,000 Faces

It dawned on me the other day, this blog is dedicated to the memory of Kyle, but I still have another child that is equally important to me and our family. Leah will be 8 next month and she is also very much grieving her brother, albeit in her own unique way like any other child. 

Leah and Kyle had a really fun relationship. In fact, Kyle used to ask me all the time, "Who do you think is the funniest person in the house?" It was a rhetorical question because the answer was always, "Leah." If you've met Leah, you understand her sense of humor and personality. But let me try and explain Leah to an outsider. Leah is a BIG personality. You know kids these days love what's called a Blind Bag? If you reached into Leah's Blind Bag, you'd pull out the following: a mash up of dance hall and marching band songs, earrings, a leotard, softball bat, camera and silky pajamas. She's essentially a cross between Taylor Swift and Judy Garland.

We've exposed Leah to every extracurricular possible - dance, gymnastics, softball, basketball - but she really gravitated towards a children's acting camp she took last Summer at a local high school. At the end of the camp they put on an abridged version of Aladdin and Leah scored a speaking role as the Cave Guardian. And of course, she did great and loved the entire experience. So, when Leah asked to get up on stage at Kyle's memorial and end the service by singing "Rocky Top" it was no surprise. She had been very upset and annoyed during Kyle's memorial that it was beginning to unnerve Erica and me. The truth of the matter is that part of a child's grieving process is involvement in the decision making around memorializing their dead family member. By allowing her to sing we were helping her stay connected to her brother and feel like an important member of the family. Plus, we could hear Kyle's voice when she got on stage, "But, of course Leah had to sing!".

Leah saw Kyle in his bed the day he died. It was a very brief moment, but it happened. We have worked with childhood grief counselors and clinical professionals to determine the best course of action for her care. Most say that her grieving will come later in life - say when she becomes a mother - and begins to fully grasp the enormity of what Erica and I are going through. She's asked me some questions, "How did they get his body out of the house?" and "Is he really dead?" One change I've witnessed is that she seems to have taken an active role in seeking out added responsibilities around the house. Yesterday I was taking Bubba out and came in to find she had made herself a bowl of cereal and cleaned up her mess afterwards. She's also asked to clean up after Bubba outside and will walk him on his leash without prompting. She has been ready and eager to get dressed and go to school on time, which is not her standard operating procedure. In fact, the majority of arguments in this house with Leah revolve around her being dressed and ready to leave on time. 

I believe she senses our grief and is doing more to help ease our burden. Or maybe she's inherited some of the sweet and concerned nature of Kyle. Regardless of the reasons why, she's been a bright light in an unimaginable dark tunnel of sadness. She motivated Erica and I to get out of bed each morning and focus on our normal routine of being supportive and loving parents. 

Last year Erica was at Leah's elementary school when a teacher shared a story with her. She remarked that Leah was and is really kind and patient with all the special needs kids at her school. If you know Leah, sweetness is not the first word you necessarily think of. She can be aloof at times. But now I see it. I see the concern, the extra attention and grace with those who need it most. I call her The Girl of 1,000 Faces because of her dramatic nature. But maybe she's simply our little girl with the beautiful soul.