Chapter 13 - Gigi
Gigi recovered physically in days.
Emotionally, the event entered her life in small ways.
She flinched once when I raised my hand quickly to catch a falling cup.
I cried afterward in the pantry.
She did not.
At bedtime she said:
“Uncle bad?”
I hated binary questions.
“Uncle Arthur did something bad.”
“Grandma fall.”
“Yes.”
“Mama kick.”
There.
Children remember the pieces adults wish they could edit.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I got very angry.”
“Grandma bad?”
“She made a bad choice too.”
Gigi frowned.
Then:
“Cake good.”
I laughed.
The white cake had apparently survived psychologically.
Her child therapist, Dr. Renee Foster, advised:
“Do not make Arthur the monster in every story.”
“What do I say?”
“What is necessary.”
“At two?”
“Adults are not allowed to hit her because they’re angry. Mom also should not kick people once she is safe.”
Simple.
I did that.
May you like
Gigi did not need the family’s fourteen-year history.
That belonged to adults.
