I don't, Eliza said honestly. I just expect you to let me try. She found Meera in the room she apparently shared with her brothers. A cramped space with two sets of bunk beds and clothes strewn across every surface. The little girl was curled on the bottom bunk, clutching a rag doll that had seen better days, her small shoulders shaking with sobs.
Eliza stood in the doorway for a moment, remembering her own childhood tears, the way her mother had sometimes held her and sometimes told her to stop being dramatic. She wasn't sure which approach would work here, or if any approach would work at all, but she told James she would try, and so she would try. Meera. Eliza lowered herself to sit on the floor beside the bed, not touching, just present. Your brother didn't mean to yell at you.
He's just hurting. He's always mean now. Meera hiccuped into her doll. He used to be nice before mama died. He used to play with us and tell stories and make us laugh.
Now he just yells all the time. Grief does strange things to people, Eliza said softly. It makes them angry at the wrong things, at the wrong people. Your brother's not really angry at you, sweetheart. He's angry at the world for taking your mother away.
But you're here and the world isn't, so sometimes the anger lands on you instead. Meera turned her tear stained face toward Eliza. Considering this, "Are you grieving, too? Is that why you're here? " The question asked with such innocent directness hit Eliza like a physical blow. In a way, she admitted, "I lost something, too.
Not a person, but a life I thought I was supposed to have. And when I lost it, I felt very angry and very sad, just like you feel about your mama. " Did it make you mean? Sometimes. I think sometimes I was mean to myself in my head, telling myself I wasn't good enough, that I'd failed. Eliza paused, choosing her words carefully.
But then your father gave me a chance to try something different, to help someone instead of just feeling sorry for myself. Do you think that was a good thing for him to do? Meera nodded slowly, her fingers worrying at the doll's yarn hair. Mama always said helping people was the best medicine for sad hearts. "Your mama sounds like she was very wise. " "She was the best mama in the whole world," Meera declared, fresh tears welling up.
"And I miss her so much my chest hurts. And nobody understands, not even P, because he's always working and he doesn't have time to talk about Mama anymore. " Eliza's heart broke a little at that, at the image of this little girl carrying such a massive weight of grief with nowhere to put it down. She didn't have Bose's permission to make promises, didn't have the right to offer things that weren't hers to give. But she couldn't just sit here and do nothing. "I can't be your mama," Eliza said gently.
"No one can be her except her, and she's gone. And that's the worst kind of unfair. But I can listen if you want to talk about her. I can hold your hand when the missing gets too big. I can make sure you eat breakfast and get tucked in at night and have clean clothes to wear.