“That’s okay,” the social worker reaffirmed. “Until he’s comfortable, he might not feel safe to talk. But it’s important foryou to keep showing up, so he feels like he has a safe place to process his emotions.”
That was what Xander said. Kid was smarter than anyone gave him credit for.
“Yeah, okay. I can do that.”
“You can,” she agreed. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re doing a lot for those kids right now just by keeping them together. The rest just takes time. I’m going to schedule a home visit with you, see if I can point out anything that might help at home. Does Monday work for you?”
“Uh, should be okay,” I frowned, grabbing the notebook sitting on the passenger seat with my schedule in it. I flipped it open to look, confirming the time with her that both kids would be home.
“Great. If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to call me. I never shut off my phone, so I’m always available.”
“You sound like my prez,” I murmured, relaxing a little when she laughed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. See you Monday, Mr. Fletcher.”
I hung up after a polite goodbye, then slumped in my seat and let out a heavy breath. All anyone was ever telling me was to keep doing what I was doing. I seriously hoped the therapist had some other advice because it didn’t feel like enough. These kids deserved better than what I was giving them now.
Mel got us an appointment to see the pediatrician right after I picked up Jasper from school. He climbed into the back like always, checking in on Isla, who was crying again. That kid hatedher car seat and only settled down when Jasper’s face came into view.
Jasper didn't speak to me until I turned right instead of left at the major intersection. He looked up suspiciously, glaring at me through the rearview mirror. “Where are we going?”
“Pediatrician. Social worker suggested getting her checked out to make sure the constant crying isn’t because she’s sick.”
The one thing he never argued about was taking care of his sister. Taking her to a doctor was on his list of okay actions, so he allowed it without another word, pulling open the diaper bag and digging through it for the formula to make her a bottle. He always made her afternoon bottle in the car on the way home. Bottle time and pick up time seemed to coincide no matter how hard I tried to get her to take it earlier.
Mel was working her shift when we showed up and couldn’t join us, but she explained over the phone which way to go and we followed the signs. Jasper took Isla from me as I handed over my insurance card and filled out paperwork, and they got us back pretty quick for a last minute appointment.
The pediatrician, a tall woman in dark blue scrubs, swept into the room with a smile. “Good afternoon everyone. I’m Doctor Murphy.”
She shook my hand, and didn’t blink when I introduced myself as Zero, then turned her attention onto Isla. I’d sat her on the little table with the paper cover and she’d been ripping it to pieces while we waited. If it bothered her, the doctor didn’t say anything.
“And who might you be?”
“Uh, her name’s Isla. And that’s Jasper in the corner.”
He was on his phone, pretending not to listen, but I didn’t miss the sharp way he followed the doctor’s movements as she nodded, taking one of Isla’s hands and giving it a little shake. “Nice to meet you, Isla. Jasper. What seems to be the problem?”
I explained what had been going on with Isla since she was brought to me, and I was glad that Jasper was there to back me up, telling Dr. Murphy that she wasn’t normally so fussy before their parents died. While I talked, Dr. Murphy checked Isla over, listening to her lungs and checking her ears and eyes. She didn’t look worried, but I held my breath as she finished her exam and moved to sit at the desk in the corner. When she looked at me, her expression was soft, but a little sad.
“What do you know about grief in babies?”
I sucked in a sharp breath, pulling Isla a little closer to me. “Hold on– Babies can feel grief? Isn’t she too young?”
Jasper had sat up too, a crease forming between his brows.
Dr. Murphy pressed her lips together, her tone patient as she explained, “She might not understand that her mothers died, but she absolutely noticed her world has changed. Her mothers haven’t come back, the familiar scents and sounds at home are missing, and her routines are changing. Babies are more perceptive than we realize.” Her expression softened. “She can also feel your stress. She can’t tell you that it’s bothering her, so she does the one thing she can do. She cries. It’s entirely normal, and once she’s more settled, it’ll stop, but right now, she’s grieving.”
It felt like a punch to the gut. Babies weren’t supposed to grieve. She was too little for that. Knowing that she was sad and missing her moms was heartbreaking. I thought things would be simple with her because she was too little to understand.
Jasper didn’t like her answer either, standing up and glaring at her. “So what are we supposed to do about it? Just let her be sad?”
Dr. Murphy didn’t get upset about his outburst, raising her eyebrows at him. “Would you appreciate anyone rushing you to ‘feel better’ before you’re ready?”
He recoiled like her words hit him straight in the chest, and I almost moved to stand in front of him. He looked like she’d just slapped him.
“Isla deserves the same time and patience you do, Jasper,” she continued gently. “And I’m sure your guardian is giving you that.”
She turned back to me, her steady patience both reassuring and a little annoying. I kinda felt like she should be just upset about this diagnosis as we were. “Does Isla have a steady routine? Feeding, napping, that kind of thing? It’s important for babies her age to have a routine, especially while she’s grieving. Familiarity will help her cope.”
