Don't take the sad away
A lesson on sadness from my 3-year-old
My second child just turned 3. He was born in the beginning of May 2020, in an almost deserted Labor and Delivery ward at Vanderbilt Medical Center. There was one other woman in labor, and a few in postpartum. Compared to the first time I gave birth in March 2018, I distinctly remember the dearth of footsteps in the halls, minimal visits by nurses, and zero med students. To be completely frank, the experience was lovely. My body felt completely at peace with the epidural. After two months of lockdown, isolation, and uncertainty, my one-night stay at the hospital felt like a vacation.
This baby was so much easier than our first. No colic, slept well. This baby, whose growth I had often compared to the length of the pandemic, is now officially a kid. Potty trained, opinionated, pretends to be Darth Vader (who he calls Dark Vader).
He’s old enough to have a series of complete sentences he’ll repeat in certain situations. When I’m trying to calm him down during a tantrum, he’ll ask me to wipe his nose with a tissue while adding: “Don’t take the sad away.” He wants to keep it. If he senses that I’m wiping the sad along with his snot, he’ll cry more, and harder.
I assure him each time that no matter how much I wipe, his sadness will remain.
It’s been a little over a month since the tragic mass shooting at the Covenant School, and the collective grief still lingers in the air throughout Nashville. Driving, I see displays of six empty chairs to signal the six lives lost. I see more and more parents at storytimes wearing red t-shirts with slogans about gun control. We might be past the “white hot worst of the awful feelings,” as one of my friends put it, but I still feel that the city’s soul will forever remain broken. For context, it’s been about 3 years since the tornado, but there are brand new buildings now where there had long been rubble. No matter how many years pass, I’m skeptical that we’ll ever really be over this sadness, this grief.
My grief for my mother is just slightly younger than my second-born, clocking in at 2 and a half years. My grief has long been walking on two feet, not requiring me to hug it close 24/7. My grief is something I can talk and write about openly without shame. Like my children, I imagine my grief always existing, changing, growing.
I don’t know how much longer my 3-year-old will continue to plead, Don’t take the sad away. My heart breaks with him at each tantrum, but I selfishly love it when he says this phrase. Aside from its cuteness, I appreciate this reminder to hold onto the sad. That it’s okay to let it linger, let it grow.
On Wednesday, May 10, 7 p.m. CT, I am moderating a virtual author event for Weina Dai Randel to discuss her novel The Last Rose of Shanghai. The story revolves around a Chinese woman and a Jewish man and their relationship in the midst of WWII — a perfect read for the month of May, which is the heritage month for both Jewish-Americans and Asian Pacific Islanders. Register for this free event here!
If you enjoy this author talk, I’m teaching an in-person writing class on Tuesday, May 23 at The Porch where we’ll use an excerpt from Randel’s novel to kickstart some exercises that will help us tell stories from multiple cultures and perspectives. A portion of the proceeds will go towards the Nashville Jewish Book Series.
On Thursday, May 11, 5:30 p.m. at The Porch House, I will be moderating a Birthing the Book event with dear friend Lauren Thoman, whose debut novel I’ll Stop the World was just published by Mindy Kaling’s imprint. Register for this free event here and come hear us talk about her journey through writing, researching, and publishing. I anticipate some fun tangents about Back to the Future, 80s music, and more.
Last but not least, if this isn’t already on your calendar, do it now: Sunday, May 21, 4-6 p.m. at The Forge. I will be MC’ing the inaugural Nashville AAPI (Asian American Pacific Islanders) Writers Showcase, an event that the group and I have been working towards since our first meetup last fall. The lineup includes poetry by James Kyson, Nina Coyle, Jing Geng, and Jenny Zheng; fiction by Jackie Richardson; a short play by Josh Inocalla; and essays by Steve Haruch, Tomiko Peirano, and JR Robles. Free with registration here. I got a sneak peek of everyone’s pieces this past week, and I am so, so excited for their words to reach a wider audience. Topics include family, names, adolescence, mockingbirds, language, the universe, inheritance, and more.
Yurina this was such a moving essay <3 It resonates with me as well and your words are so needed right now.
Beautiful, Y.