I have lost the luxury of thinking, It won’t happen to my child. I have lost the ability to feel okay about being negligent, like letting Desmond sit in the car’s front seat or ride a scooter without a helmet. I have learned that I can’t control everything and can’t always keep my child safe. I have learned that children die. They aren’t as “resilient” as we’ve been told. Every time I make a decision about Desmond, it is filtered through the loss of his brother.

When Desmond and Sam were building a cardboard house one day, his mom texted that they were spray-painting it, “They’re having fun, but I can’t promise they’re not inhaling fumes…lol.” My stomach tightened.

I texted back, “I am worried about that…are you worried at all?”

“They’re outside, so think it’s ok, but lmk if you want me to stop them.”

I rushed to her house and found them in the front yard, unsupervised. Sam was spraying black spray paint toward Desmond, just a few inches from his face. The cardboard walls of the house were already dripping with layers of black paint in the bright sun. “Sam, stop!,” I yelled.

When Sam’s mom came outside, I asked what kind of spray paint they were using. “Just bought it at the hardware store,” she said.

“Is it nontoxic?” I asked, stupidly, already knowing the answer.

“Definitely not nontoxic,” she laughed and shook her head.

The boys stared at us, the spray cans still in their hands, awaiting the thumbs up.

“It’s not okay with me,” I said. Their heads slumped.

“Mom! You’re so overprotective!,” Desmond yelled and stomped indoors.

Sam’s mom picked up the spray cans and put the lids on, without looking at me. “Great, now he’s mad at me,” I said, and left.

I read a poem after Riley died about a mom and child who spray-painted a Christmas tree in their garage and died from lead poisoning. I know there isn’t lead in paint anymore, but it still haunts me. I chose not to look at the spray paint ingredients or do internet research, because I didn’t want to go into that black hole.

Later, I told Desmond, “I’m not overprotective, just protective. It may seem overprotective compared to Sam’s mom. There is a continuum. She is on the other end of the continuum.”

“I see what you mean,” Desmond said, hugging me.

When I told Lee the story, he laughed, “She’s just a mom from the 70’s.”

“Totally,” I said. “And a mom who hasn’t lost a child.”