Well, turns out that my desire to protect has SOME basis in reality. However, it wasn't quite what I was expecting.
Babygirl didn't really talk too much about her experience in the cleanup. She told me they worked in a cornfield, and that they found a doghouse left by the flooding.
What she failed to tell me was that they found more. A LOT more. Doll houses. A teddy bear. Someones entire front porch. Kitchen goods. Christmas decorations. A ton of lost memories and sadness strewn across a cornfield, interfering with the farmers' machines and making what little harvest remained impossible. The kids worked for hours, staying at least two hours longer than they had planned because the kids were not willing to give up.
The other thing our baby failed to share was that the stench of the waste in the field actually made her vomit. A few times. Near as I can tell it was a small pile of dead animals (mice and the like) that did her in. They made her stop for a bit, but she took a break and went back to work.
I've done mission work, and I know how bad the smells can be. And actually she's not the first of my kids to gack while doing this kind of work. But she's the baby. And she's the youngest to do this - the rest have been at least fourteen. And as I have frequently pointed out, she is young for her age. Or she was, once.
As this six months has gone on, she has grown up. I'm not surprised, I suppose. She's had a lot to deal with, and she's at that pivotal age where many kids suddenly become adolescents. But it's more with her. She's had to talk about surgery and death, transplantation from both the living and the dead. She's had to give up chocolate and sleepovers, gym class and popcorn. And so she has grown up. More than I expected, and better than I hoped.
But I still feel guilty.
DeeDee
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