1 Mother 2 Another

Well, I thought we were finished with
saying goodbyes this year, but apparently the year’s not over
yet.


At least this time, it’s not a person, but a place.


One of the reasons we bought our house was its close proximity to a
neighborhood park – two short blocks. I spent nearly every
day those first few years walking those two blocks at least once a
day. Cora learned how to, well, everything on that playground, and
for the past five years it’s been the girls’ go-to
spot. As they’ve gotten older we’ve gone from me
scampering over the equipment with the girls, to a posse of kids
running wild together as parents sit on the sidelines. Just a few
weeks ago we met up there for one last hangout with a friend who
was moving, and Maddie and her friends sequestered themselves in a
secluded spot to giggle and sing away from the ‘rents. When
Maddie was in school and Cora was still home, Cora and I would walk
over there nearly every day after dropping Maddie off, and play on
it, just the two of us. Cora would beg Daddy to head to the
playground on the weekend, and they’d go crazy for a couple
hours at a time.


But yesterday, it was torn down.

I had no idea this was happening until a
friend of mine posted something about it on Facebook. And within 24
hours, the whole thing was razed. I broke the news to the girls at
school pick-up yesterday and they insisted on biking past the empty
park on the way home.


Cora stared in silence for a few minutes, then said tightly,
“Can we just go home now? I want to go HOME!”


She pedaled furiously the whole way home, and held back her tears
until we got into the garage. By the time she threw herself on the
couch she was sobbing furiously.


I silently walked to the freezer, got out the emergency bag of
homemade cookies, and gently herded my kids upstairs. We snuggled
in my bed, sobbing and eating cookies and reminiscing about the
park.


Maddie was really ticked off- she’s convinced the Parks and
Recs people are just doing this to be mean. Cora doesn’t
understand why people tear something down JUST BECAUSE IT’S
OLD. I let them rant for a while, not even trying to counter their
arguments, until they ran down tiredly.


We’ve done a couple things to try to put this in context. I
told the girls it’s ok to grieve, and they told some of their
favorite stories about fun times on the playground. We’ve
looked at the blueprints online and imagined what the new
playground will look like. And we called the city to find out WHY
the playground was torn down, and to make sure they were recycling
the old one (this was Cora’s demand).


At one point in her sobbing, Cora confessed that she was sad the
playground was gone because it had some great memories of our
friends who moved away this summer “and now I’m afraid
I’ll forget them!”


I can’t blame the girls: I’m famous for hating change,
for clinging tightly to the past when there’s nothing I can
do about the inevitable movement forward. I see myself in them, and
empathize deeply. When I saw the Big Twisty Slide lying ignobly on
its side I almost started crying: this was the place Maddie
conquered one of her first fears and learned to try something
scary, and the place Cora and I would “hide” for
several minutes at a time and pretend we weren’t on the
playground in case anyone else would come by.


Playground, we’ll miss you.