The week Dawn’s parents’ visited her in California was so much fun.

“What hurt so badly all those years?” she kept thinking. The smiles the love the hugs and the warmth — all this was real not like she remembered or had been told to remember. The yearning the pining — they were real. Her mother and father really did miss her.

The week flew by shopping sprees with all the children each one a special trip a special day. A special present from Grandma and Grandpa. And now it was the youngest one’s turn for her special day. But when they came Shoshi was napping.

They said “It’s okay let her sleep” with a tinge of happiness that they had “won” some extra time not to have to “deal with her.”

It’s true; Shoshi moved slower than the rest. Not as bright and whippy. Not California chic and snazzy. But Shoshi was sweeter and deeper and full of heart. Maybe too full of body as well.

When she awoke Grandpa spoke to Shoshi about drinking lots of water and how food doesn’t make us feel full until 20 minutes after we eat it. They were the same hints Dawn had heard throughout childhood. The same veiled-but-completely-transparent messages. Lose weight. You’re not okay as you are.

It was like watching an old black-and-white video in her colorful sun-filled California living room.

Dawn thought she had gone far enough away — across the country — to forget those soft-spoken well-meaning messages. But the look in her daughter’s eyes was the same as hers had been. It was a tattoo she thought she’d removed but here it was resurfacing this time on her daughter’s heart. “We have a present for you ” Dawn’s mother said to Shoshi.

The words seared like hot coals through Dawn’s heart. They were going to tattoo it onto her daughter now.

Dawn’s mind flashed back to the Chanukah presents she’d gotten as a child. The ski pants she hated and the scarf she’d never wear. How she hated herself for hating the ski pants and not understanding why every year her parents bought her ski pants and a scarf and why with all their money they couldn’t find a present she’d love.

Years passed she forgave and even mostly forgot. But she’d subconsciously committed never to inflict those same wounds. And yet here were her parents about to give the same present to Shoshi.

Dawn knew what was inside that bag. They had shown her the present when they arrived. “Look what we bought for Shoshi” they said holding up the small blue bag. They said it was a soft cashmere scarf and gloves for the winter. But California’s winters aren’t so cold.

Now Dawn tried to concentrate on the newspaper pulling it closer as her daughter opened the blue bag.

She tried not to watch as Shoshi pulled out the oversized pale-pink sloppily knit scarf. But the pain was all rushing back — and all the memories and the reasons. Her daughter held up the floppy too-long scarf majestically wrapping it around her throat graciously thanking her grandparents for their gift.

If it hurt — she didn’t show it.

Just the week before her daughter had seen a boy with a dislocated elbow screaming in pain at the playground. Someone had called a doctor who came and put the bone back into place.

The pain stopped immediately.

“Why does Hashem make it hurt so much?” Shoshi later asked.

Dawn answered nonchalantly “Because if it didn’t hurt we wouldn’t know something was broken or needed to be fixed.

Dawn knows the pain of a dislocation in life in emotions. Pain demands begs to be fixed.

She understood. That’s why it hurts.