Letting Go Gently

I thought a lot about death during my years as a resident. And I've thought a lot about death in the years since. It's impossible not to when you work in a hospital, when you watch children suffer, because even though most of them won't die, you know that some of them will.

Thanks so much to the Boston Globe Magazine for publishing this piece in today's edition. And thanks to all who will read and discuss this difficult topic.

Dumpy Dumpy Sat on a Wall

There are a few givens when you go on vacation with a toddler. The first, it seems, is that she will end up buried in the ball pit at Story Land with only the round circle of her sad little face above the surface. At this point, as the twelve year old manning the activity ineffectually tried to help her out, I found myself reduced to uncontrollable laughter, identifying me immediately to all of the other families in the park as the worst parent in the world. Then, she inevitably spent several days as a snot dripping monster, probably as a result of her near drowning event in said ball pit.

Or from any of the other virus laden surfaces she touched or hugged or kissed.

For Emmaline, who learned many nursery rhymes as well as compassion for "Dumpy Dumpy's" fall induced boo boos, it was an educational trip. For her parents as well, who learned to avoid any rides bearing this signage:

Outside the walls of the theme park, the most important lesson was that even though toddlers should not be dangled over waterfalls, they will insist upon it.

And if, at the end of the week, said toddler lets you dress her up like a Victorian doll, then the whole fete should probably be considered a success.