Curiosity is the seed of knowledge!

I walked close to him, and after several unsuccessful attempts to signal him, I closed in. His reluctant acknowledgment came with a melancholy gaze, but he understood this time was different. Attempting one last diversion tactic, he rallied his friends by saying, “Come, let me show you,” creating a toddler entourage that surrounded me.

“Show it, Daddy,” Aiden implored. I hesitated, irritated by his diversion from leaving the park. Discomfort set in as I anticipated what was to come. Ignoring my reluctance, Aiden seized my left forearm, previously resting in my jeans pocket, exposing my greatest vulnerability to his audience, my missing hand. Wide-eyed, Aiden’s friends gasped – a collective “WOW!” Some flinched in fear, yet remained captivated; a child daring enough to approach me and touch my forearm. A few exclaimed, “that’s a big BOO-BOO!” as Aiden used to call it when he was younger.

After a moment, the children would rejoin their parents, exchanging hushed conversations about the newly acquired knowledge. Some parents greeted me with nervous smiles, while others took the initiative to approach me, expressing apologies for any unintentional offense – “I am so sorry; I hope you weren’t offended.” I responded with a forced smile, reassuring them that it was perfectly fine; after all, children possess a natural curiosity.

Every time Aiden would make new friends in the playground, he would ask them to come and see his daddy’s missing hand. He took pride in showcasing something unique and relished their reactions. Nevertheless, the image of the apprehensive expressions on the faces of those young, innocent children lingered in my thoughts, even now.

Being a stay-at-home dad provided numerous opportunities for us to bond. During his infancy, my son was surrounded by various toys, including stuffed animals and wooden blocks, and he had a particular fascination with dinosaurs. On a specific day, as we engaged in playtime amidst a sea of scattered toys in the living room, he reached for a toy dinosaur.

Holding it up, he scrutinized it closely, turning it around in his little hands. It appeared to be a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and he examined it with a curious gaze, glancing at his own hands and turning his palm to and fro. Then, unexpectedly, he reached for my left forearm, lifted it, examined it, and then looked back at his hand, expressing confusion.

At that time, Aiden was 6 or 7 months old; he noticed the distinction between his left hand and mine. Daily activities became a spectacle as he examined it, sometimes gently touching, sometimes cradling it as if checking for a pulse, unable to articulate the difference. When he was around 11 or 12 months old, he would point at my left forearm with a missing left hand and utter “BOO-BOO.

When Aiden was old enough to formulate a sentence, his daily inquiries about my missing hand: “Daddy, why don’t you have hand?” became the catalyst for embracing my reality. Every day, despite my initial inclination to respond with impatience, repeating that I had already explained it the day before, I chose instead to share with him the story of how I lost my hand. The more I opened up about it with Aiden, the more at ease I became with my situation. Nowadays, I no longer feel the need to conceal the fact that I am missing a hand. If someone inquires, I answer their questions without hesitation.

What I have come to understand, albeit many years later during my journey to becoming a school counselor, is that I was entrenched in a state of denial, possibly entangled in a prolonged battle alternating between denial and anger for nearly 15 years. The pivotal moment arrived when my two-and-a-half-year-old son played a significant role in facilitating my shift from denial to acceptance. This marked the beginning of a gradual emergence from my self-imposed shell.

What I went through aligned with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s classic five stages of grief (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance), albeit with some steps skipped in my case. Aiden’s persistent and innocent inquiries acted as a remedy for navigating through my loss. His questions served as a guiding light through my grief, prompting me to confront my insecurities and gradually facilitating my overall healing. Though more than a decade has passed, my heartfelt gratitude goes to my son, Aiden.

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