One afternoon on the way to pick up Precious Boy from his new school, I spied a ladybug on a leaf.  I knew he would be delighted to see the ladybug.  So, I carefully plucked the leaf with the ladybug. I continued along my way to get him, leaf in hand.  I was right.  PB was thrilled. He was excited to see the ladybug and to hold the leaf.  He was ever so gentle.  We walked home carefully and made it home with ‘Ladybug on a Leaf’. 

A few hours later, we had to get ready to go to an adoption support group meeting.  As we were walking out the door, PB picked up Ladybug on her leaf.  I gently suggested to PB that we leave Ladybug at home.  But, no, he insisted. Maybe he just liked being with the ladybug.  Perhaps he wanted to show it to the people at the meeting.  There was not a lot of time to convince him otherwise.  He wanted to take the ladybug on her leaf. PB just had to have it.

So, off we went to catch the bus with Ladybug on her leaf.  Less than five minutes into the journey, we had no ladybug and no leaf.  We looked around at the bus stop.  It was hard to see in the twilight where Ladybug might have gone to from her leaf.

And then Precious Boy broke down. He bawled.  He was so upset about the lost ladybug on the leaf.  I picked him up.  He cried and cried on my shoulder.  I tried to comfort him, but he was deeply upset.  PB seemed heartbroken.  Many children cry when they lose a lovey or thing they care about.  This upset seemed different to me.  It felt like it wasn’t just about the ladybug. 

My sweet son had gotten attached to the ladybug, and it was gone. It was a loss—another unexpected loss. Perhaps he was remembering his parents and family and people he had lost.  There were no words for his grief, just tears. To me, Ladybug on a Leaf was a reminder of the grief and loss that play like a soundtrack for adoption.

Bea Hopewell

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