Growing Pains

Excerpted from When Grief Calls Forth the Healing

Photo by Ilse Bing, 1945

Michael has “growing pains.” That’s what Mother calls them. They come mostly in his legs. He is small for his age. I know Mother and Pat are worried he won’t grow—I heard them talking about sending him to a doctor. Maybe Geedie’s bones are trying hard to stretch and get bigger, and all that stretching is what hurts.

They don’t talk to me about it, except to say he will outgrow the pains, but if he’s not growing, how is that possible? The worst is when they take him from his room down the hall and put him in the guest room under the stairs next to the dining room. Why do they do that? When it happens, everyone is whispering and I’m not allowed to interrupt or go to him.

mary_1945_easel_sm I know it hurts a lot because Geedie won’t talk about it. If Pat takes him downstairs at night, I wait until I hear her go back to her room. There’s a little rug outside the guest room door. I bring my pillow and curl up on it. Sometimes Nacho, our cocker spaniel, lies down next to me. We don’t go in to Michael, because I’m afraid I’ll get caught. I have to get up quick if I hear Mother walking about above us, for I know she’s getting ready to come downstairs. Then I hide in the living room.

When I say my prayers, I pray Michael will grow. I’m taller than him—it doesn’t make sense. How can that happen when we’re twins?