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Always There

By Liz Dubelman

“Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Grace. One day Grace asked her mother, ‘Where does the moon go when I can’t see it in the sky?’ Her mother said, ‘Where do you think the moon goes?’ Grace thought about it and thought about it and thought about it, and then she said, ‘I think the moon goes to visit friends.’

“‘No, no,’ said her mother. So, Grace thought about it and thought about it and thought about it, and then she said, ‘I think the moon goes to the beach.’

“‘No, no,’ said her mother. So, Grace thought about it and thought about it and thought about it, and then she said, ‘I think the moon goes to see her grandmother.’

Her mother said, ‘Oh, little one. The moon doesn’t go anywhere. It’s always in the sky. It’s like when you turn off the lights in your room at night to go to sleep. Everything in your room is still right where you left it, only you can’t see it because there’s no light. The moon is always there.’

“Now go to sleep. I love you so much.”

I’ve told that story dozens of times. Kids love repetition, it makes them feel safe. I turned off the light and before long she was asleep. I went into my office to get a bit of writing done and switched on the eleven o’clock news.

“For the mom and dad of 5-year-old Brandon Zucker, there are no happy memories of Disneyland. Brandon, then 4, was on the Roger Rabbit Car Toon spin ride with his parents when the unimaginable occurred.

“According to reports, the 45-pound youngster was flung out of the ride vehicle as he bent to pick something up. He was trapped underneath it for ten minutes before paramedics pried him out. In the time it took for help to arrive, Brandon quit breathing. He had to be resuscitated, and suffered brain damage and other extensive injuries.”

I surveyed my desk, casting my eyes from photo to photo. Grace’s first bath. Grace’s face was covered in chocolate cake. Grace and her Da on the beach. My eyes rested on the “space angel” photograph: newborn Grace in her car seat, with soft pink pillow-like wings on either side of her head to keep it from flopping around.

When Grace was three months old we rented a house in Santa Barbara to “get our bearings.” We felt that the rhythm of the waves would help us – well, me, really – recover from the C-section, the constant breastfeeding, and the no sleep. My husband tried to put things in perspective. He said, “All we really have to do is keep her alive.”

I was at Esau’s on State Street having breakfast with my mother. (I used to love going to Esau’s so much I actually asked Paul if we could name the baby Esau. Fortunately, we had a girl.) Grace was in her stroller. My mother was paying the check. I was by the door. I bent down to pick up a copy of the Independent, the local weekly free paper and I momentarily let go of the stroller handle. I didn’t realize there was a slight decline out the door. I turned around and Grace was rolling towards the street. A man grabbed her stroller just as a bus swished past. Tears streamed down my face. My mother said, “Don’t beat yourself up. Nothing really happened.”

My husband goes around closing drawers. He’s afraid that an open drawer, at head level, will cause irreparable damage. Our house is childproofed down to a foam rubber bath faucet cozy with a picture of a kitty cat on it. We used to use all three back seat belts to secure Grace’s car seat to the middle – the safest place in the car. One day, somebody told us the car seat could be tethered to the middle, freeing up the back seat belts. It took us close to three weeks to assemble all the necessary information, acquire the parts, and have them installed. Keeping your child safe shouldn't be this hard.

The other day, Gracie was in that OT (overtired) zone – she needed sleep but couldn’t find her way there. Everything irritated her. She was desperate to find that one thing, with the exception of sleep, that would make her feel better. This time it was an apple. Paul cut an apple and brought it back to bed. He laid down with her. A few minutes later I went in to check on them and found them both fast asleep, Grace with a piece of apple hanging out of her mouth, like a junkie with a needle in his arm. She could have choked!

"Of course, you live with the fear, 'Well, is he going to walk again? Is he going to talk again?’”

Those words, from the mother of the kid who was crushed in the “happiest place on earth,” stuck in my head. I needed air. I opened the window and looked out into the night. The moon was high in the sky, full and bright.