“I like Clare Bear,” Amelia says. “She’s nice to me. And I know my real mommy still loves me, but I can’t be with her.” The tears come crashing down again, barreling out, and I realize she hasn’t had much time to grieve.
Maybe this is her way of dealing with the trauma.
Is this my doing, or is she still struggling with her mother’s passing?
She had one appointment with the child psychiatrist the previous week. Most of that appointment had been with me, going over Amelia’s history and discussing what happened at great length. After which, Amelia did some play therapy and drawing with the psychiatrist.
We’re skipping the second week, since we’re in Europe, and she’ll meet the woman again when we return.
I rub Amelia’s back, trying to soothe her in the best way I know how. I haven’t had to deal with grief at such a young age as her. This is all new to me.
She buries her face in my chest, soaking my shirt with tears and snot. I don’t care. I can change when I get back to the hotel.
I eat most of my lunch, and Amelia eats less than I’d like, but I doubt she’s going to eat now that she’s crying and upset. She’s probably lost her appetite.
“Are you done?” I ask.
She nods, and the waiter brings us a few more napkins with a sympathetic look. “Thank you,” I say. I wipe Amelia’s tears and help her blow her nose.
We take it easy the rest of the day, finding some macaroons and souvenirs for Amelia to take home. The tears stop, but she still doesn’t seem like her bright and sunny self.
I carry Amelia for a while before letting her walk beside me. Especially once I have several shopping bags filled with new toys and stuffed animals, it’s hard to carry her and the souvenirs back to the hotel room.
We head up the elevator, and I use the key to unlock access to the penthouse suite.
The ride only takes a few seconds as we’re launched directly up to the top floor. Stepping off the elevator, I escort Amelia inside and place the shopping bags on the floor by the sofa. I’ll deal with packing everything later. I might want to buy an extra suitcase to fit everything for the way home.
Amelia rushes into my bedroom. “Clare Bear!”
I follow after my daughter, and Clare is zipping up her suitcase on the floor, putting it right-side up as she grabs the telescoping handle, dragging it across the floor.
“Where are you going?”
“I should probably get another room,” she says. “The couch isn’t going to be comfortable for either of us.”
“In case you forgot, there weren’t any additional rooms or beds open,” I remind her.
She exhales a heavy breath. “Right.” Clare glances at the door like she’s debating on whether she should leave.
“You’re staying here with us.” I don’t want her to get any ideas that she should go to a different hotel.
“Fine.” She drags the bag toward the open door that leads to the living room.
I block her from leaving.
“Where are you taking your luggage?” I ask.
“If you must know, I was going to put it in my room.”
“In your room,” I repeat. I thought we had already established that she’s staying here at this hotel in the penthouse suite.
“It’s either the sleep sofa or the floor in Amelia’s room,” Clare says, making it clear that neither of those options include sharing a bed with me.
“My room!” Amelia squeals, not realizing that is the worst of the two options. The sofa bed has to be more comfortable; even lumpy, it has to win over the floor. The carpet has been washed but not replaced in decades. Even with an extra blanket on the floor, it’s hard and gross.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“I think everything that needed to be said was today, at lunch.” Clare grips the handle of her luggage.