Hours later, when the room was finally just right and we’d eaten dinner, it was finally time to go to bed. Melody insisted on a bedtime story, and that was when she found my extensive collection of children’s books.
Grabbing an armful off the shelf, she looked up at me with her bright smile. “Are these for me?”
She’d grabbed more than she could hold, and the books slipped from her arms. I quickly saved them before they could land on her tiny feet and set them down on the floor where she could still see them.
“You can read them as much as you want,” I said. “But they aren’t just for you. Daddy also needs to use these.”
At first, Melody thought I was joking, and her laughter rang through the apartment, but when she realized I was serious, her curiosity sparked to life. Delighted by the idea of an adult reading kids’ books, she kept asking about them until I gave in and told her about my volunteer work at the hospital.
After my explanation, she sat in silence for a while, starting down at the extensive pile of books. She didn’t say a word, but the wheels behind her little eyes were turning with unfathomable thoughts as she processed something.
I hadn’t planned for this conversation. I’d barely even discussed my volunteer work with Chantal, so I didn’t know what Melody would think about it. She was so young, and although she seemed happy, my absence and the divorce couldn’t have been easy for her.
Would she be jealous that I was giving my time to other kids?
Did she even understand what a hospital was and why children ended up there?
“So, these kids are hurt?” she eventually asked.
I just nodded and let her continue to think.
“And you read books to them to make them feel better?”
Again, I nodded.
She nodded along with me, like a sage who had just uncovered the secret to enlightenment. Then, she grabbed one of the books from the pile and held it out to me.
“I like this one. Read it to the hurt kids. It’ll definitely make them feel better.”
Looking down at the book in my hands, I found a cover of painted blue and green with two white rabbits and a title that readThe Runaway Bunny. The book was on the younger side, so I hadn’t read it to the kids at the hospital yet, but I promised to bring it with me as an option next time I volunteered.
I went to set the book back on the shelf, but before I could set it down, she grabbed it back from my hands.
“Wait, can I read it?”
“You want this one as a bedtime story tonight?” I asked. “Sure. We can do that.”
But she was already shaking her head and hugging the book closer.
“No, can I read it to the hurt kids? Mama said I’m real good at reading. I wanna do it.”
That presented more of a problem. Never mind the fact that I hadn’t discussed taking Melody to the hospital with Chantal, but I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to bring a child with me when I volunteered. However, anyone who’s tried explaining difficult situations to a five-year-old knows that this is an exercise in futility. Children that young deal in absolutes. Melody wanted adefinite answer right then and there, and was only happy when I at least promised that she could come so long as the hospital allowed it.
Hopefully, Chantal wouldn’t mind that I agreed for her.
For bedtime, we ended up readingThe Runaway Bunnyas a bedtime story. Or, I should say that Melody ended up reading it to me as a way to “practice” so she’d be ready to read to the other kids. The book was right at her reading level, and her mother was right. She was an excellent reader. She barely stumbled over any of the words. If I had my way, I’d have let her volunteer with me at the hospital right away, but like so many things in life, it was out of my hands.
The rest of our weekend went smoothly, and just as I promised, I asked about letting Melody volunteer at the hospital. Chantal wasn’t sure at first but caved in and agreed when she saw how excited Melody was. The hospital, however, took a little bit longer. There was a lot more paperwork involved for such a young child to volunteer. So, several weeks passed before I was finally able to make good on my promise. I feared that Melody’s enthusiasm would wane over the extended wait, five-year-olds weren’t known for their long attention spans, but when her day of volunteering finally came, she was just as excited as when she first suggested the idea.
Before we arrived at the hospital, I tried to prepare her for what to expect. She was technically only there to help me, as a child her age could not volunteer on her own. The hospital had a wide range of child patients spanning all ages. If the kids were interested in her book, then she could read to them. However, if they wanted something else, something older and beyond her reading level, then she had to accept that.
That had been Chantal’s biggest worry, and it was mine as well. Melody was a well-behaved child, but she still had the maturity of a five-year-old. Children her age often didn’t handle perceived rejection well. However, I also suspected that this might be a good learning opportunity, which was the main reason I pushed so hard for her to come with me. Empathy and kindness were sadly lacking in the world, and if this little trip could help Melody develop those skills, then it would be worth the effort.
As soon as we got to the hospital, the nurses were clearly delighted by Melody as she showed off her book. We were brought to the children’s area, like normal, where many patients were already waiting for us. I recognized many of them, though there were also new faces among the gathered kids. Before we approached the gathered group, I took a moment to let Melody observe everything from the safety of the doorway. Hospitals were already scary places and seeing a bunch of sick and injured kids could be very overwhelming.
“Are you all right?” I asked her, smoothing my hand over her hair, which her mother had just put into braids that morning.
Hugging her book a little closer to her chest, Melody nodded, but it was a distracted gesture that I could tell didn’t actually mean agreement. Just an acknowledgement that she heard me.