(This is the post that really made me recognize that blogging wasn’t going to be a short lived hobby. I wrote it in December of 2004. Coincidentally my other grandmother died last year so I had another conversation about death. However there was a world of difference in that the kid who lost his great-grandmother was nine. Death was something that he understood better. We have had many discussions about it and what happens afterwards. Some of those are chronicled within the blog. Some of it has been fascinating to me. I love watching the wheels turn inside his head as he tries to figure out what he believes. New posts coming soon.)
My grandmother died last year. My son was around a little short of 3, for you math whizzes he was about 2.875 or so. Old enough to realize that she was not around and not that he is 3.934-years-old he doesnâ€™t really remember her, but he knows she died.
From time to time he has asked his mother and I about death. It is a natural question and I think that he and his school friends are starting to notice it. He had a pet fish named Boo that died around two months ago and that got the ball rolling.
Tonight was interesting. We had dinner, lit our Chanukiah and said the blessings. As we said the Shehecheyanu I could see the excitement on his face. He couldnâ€™t wait to open presents. It was great watching his eyes as those hands feverishly tore at the wrapping paper. Gifts were waiting, what could they be.
Legos and Lincoln Logs, a nice match for a boy who likes to build and his son. We were both excited and we had a nice time playing before bed. But eventually it was time for him to get a little shut-eye so that he can wake up in the morning. Speaking of which I am told that if I got more sleep it would be easier for me to recapture the svelte body I once had.
I lay in bed with him and told him a story. He smiled and gave me a hug and then asked why grandma died, why people die, where they go, what happens when you die and waited for answers. The answers came and he followed up with concern about whether he would die and a request that I not die. It was a soft voice, â€œdaddy please donâ€™t die.â€
I did the best that I could to assuage his fear and reassured him that I am not going to die anytime soon, but part of me was unhappy with the answer. What happens if I am hit by a bus tomorrow. What happens if G-d forbid I am killed or suddenly drop dead. Have I misled him and caused some kind of issue. I have witnessed the deaths of several friends, not one or two, but several.
The causes include cancer, drunk driver and a basic bike accident. It could happen to me too, but I decided to play the odds and told him not to worry. He is too little to be concerned about whether I am going to come home at night. He still thinks that if a car hit me it would break. Although truth be told, so do I.
Some of you may be wondering why I am not posting what I said to him, what insightful answers did I come up with. The answer is that for now you can imagine what it was, I am not prepared to share it with you. It is kind of raw and I am not willing to drag those ghosts out of the closet.
I am mentally tough, I really am. Many people say it, but I live it. It is just the way things have worked out for me. Donâ€™t misunderstand, there are many who are tougher and many who are smarter and stronger than I am. But I know myself and frankly this hurts me in a deeper place than other cuts. It is cold and biting and I am not going to feed the monster by letting it out of itâ€™s cage.
In the morning Iâ€™ll reconsider this again and Iâ€™ll revisit. This is not the last time this conversation will be had, so there will be plenty of time to rehash it.
And on to a new post.