22 Jan Side by Side
In 2020, in the middle of the pandemic, the girls were given a small terrarium with two green frogs inside. They named them Franklin and Lime. The frogs were instantly beloved. The girls built them houses out of Magna-Tiles, made them tiny hats, played nature sounds in the background during the day while they were at school, and redesigned the terrarium throughout the year, changing it with the seasons and holidays.
Last week, Franklin died.
There were tears, and that ache that comes when the happiness of having meets the pain of losing. Later, Emma made a short video pieced together from pictures and clips from the years they had Franklin. Him perched on a leafy vine and burrowing under the dirt, as he liked to do. Him hopping from one side of the tank to the other. His terrarium decorated with hearts for Valentine’s Day and flags for the 4th of July. Lime nearby, almost always. The video was gentle and earnest, a child’s way of remembering.
Watching it, I noticed how naturally joy and grief shared the same space. The sweetness of those moments did not disappear because Franklin was gone. And the sadness didn’t erase the happiness that had come before. They stood side by side.
No one really tells us this is part of love. Grief arrives whether we invite it or not. It sometimes asks us to walk with it, hand in hand, even as joy keeps pace on the other side.
We don’t get to choose one without the other. We carry both. The same heart that opens itself to love will one day have to make room for loss.
And yet, we love anyway. We build little houses. We make tiny hats. We learn it’s possible to hold struggle in one hand and joy in the other.