The Broken Toenail

On a recent visit to Indiana, I was sitting with my 4-year-old granddaughter, Marie when she showed me the Band-Aid wrapped around her big toe. She seemed concerned about the situation protected by the Princess Anna Frozen themed bandage. She went on to tell me she’d stubbed her toe and ripped her toenail, so that half the nail was in limbo. She was hoping the Band-Aid would repair the nail tear. Upon removing the bandage to check the progress, she began to cry. 

What ensued became a scene defined by much more, of course, than a hangnail. You see, Marie was distraught not because her toe hurt. She didn’t like the fact that her nail was going to fall off. She wanted me to glue it, replace it or find some other way to make the nail whole again. I offered to clip it, file it or find a solution. She’d have none of it. She wanted to reverse time to when this nail was “perfect.”

We sat together on the floor for a while. I tried to reassure her that the nail would grow back. For a 4-year-old, the concept of patience and waiting and trusting in the body’s ability to repair itself is not so easy to understand. Soon, we were sharing a tender conversation about much more than her toe. I felt one of those bankable moments with Marie I’ll never forget. I’m thinking there will be many more times in her life when I’ll remind her of the story of her toenail. By the next morning, the nail took its natural course, and the ripped remnants of the old were but a distant memory somewhere in yesterday’s sock.  

The pain of letting go or navigating loss, for some, is unimaginable. I remember when my sister’s family home was decimated by fire caused by a powerful lightning strike. The next morning, as they moved among the ashes of so much lost, my nephew, Conor with wisdom expressed well beyond his years, said, “Well, I guess this fire is to remind us of the impermanence of things.” His words were soft and thoughtful, providing a lift within despair. Fast forward through months of physical, emotional, and spiritual rebuilding, my sister’s comprehensive devastation was indeed impermanent. She and her family have created a new home that is, once again, beautifully whole. 

Now, I realize comparing the desolation of a house fire with a 4-year-old toenail issue is ridiculous. Even as I type, I’m chuckling at the absurdity. But the connection is there. My sweet little Marie will most surely have loss in her life much larger than her toenail. In my almost 62 years of living, my heart has been broken many times over by vanished wholeness, or for others who’ve had to traverse the unimaginable. Few among us are spared. But no matter how hard or difficult, there is beauty and goodness that co-exists with sorrow or despair. Every component of life at the same time; it’s just how it goes. 

I’ll always remember sitting on the floor with Marie as we talked about being sad, not understanding, new growth, and yes, the impermanence of things. Born from her forlornness was a pretty special time. Loss yields gain, heartache and hope share the same space, and tears might just clear the path for newness. It all goes together. I was profoundly reminded of the bigness of life by a little, broken little toenail.