I’ve thought a lot about little Gabriel with the story of Jeremiah Oliver (http://www.boston.com/news/local/massachusetts/2013/12/28/family-community-search-again-for-missing-fitchburg-boy/8X4J8TfzNlKJoBcd0HYtEK/story.html). It does not reassure me that Gabriel is well and taken care of, somewhere. I think I’ll always wonder.
Spending my lunches at daycare (theoretically nursing Thane, but in reality just giving both of my boys big hugs and playing with them) has reminded me of Grey’s first year, when I did the same thing. There was a little boy at daycare name Gabriel. (Long “a”, like “Gah-briel” not “Gay-briel”)
Gabriel was about three at the time. The age Grey is now. He had big, dark eyes and curly dark hair. He also had behavior problems and didn’t talk. He would throw violent, inarticulate fits. He grew to really like me, and I to like him. He would stand next to me when I nursed Grey, and I would talk to him. I would ask him questions and, unfamiliar with child development, be contented with the few words he gave back to me. His face lit up when he saw me. I was afraid for him. Rubertina does her…
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