A few years back, when Jedi was around Buzz’s age and Abby wasn’t even a notion, there was a park we used to visit quite often. At this park, there was a metal structure in the shape of a rocket which ascended stories into the air. To get to the top, and coveted captains chair, you had to climb 3 flights of stairs, with a metal landing marking each floor. One time, the last time, Jedi lost his footing and fell with a horrible thud, his head smacking the hard metal below.
There was blood, a lot of it. We didn’t realize how bad it was until we saw the blood soaking through his blue shirt, turning his dark blonde curls deep red. It was a heart-wrenching sight to see. I’m sure it didn’t feel too well, either.
Until yesterday, we had never been back to that particular park. We would pass a few times before and ask him if he wanted to play, but he’d refuse. We didn’t want to push him. But enough time had passed, and we don’t want him to always be afraid.
So we stopped. Everyone tumbled out of the car and we played. On the slides and swings and Buzz ran through the grass and passed his hand through rocks, as Abby found her perch upon my lap. Jedi, ever the cautious one now, took it one step at a time, but was soon sliding and climbing and laughing along.
Buzz and J went up the rocket a few times, my heart racing with worry the higher they climbed. I very well may have been traumatized by the event just as much as Jedi. While he preferred to stay closer to ground that afternoon, just the fact that we were there without issue was a big step. For all of us.