Children

Death- My Son Asked Me Not to Die

December 8, 2004 by Jack Steiner 6 Comments

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 doesn’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 couldn’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, “daddy please don’t die.”

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. Don’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 it’s cage.

In the morning I’ll reconsider this again and I’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.

Time to Rant, Rave, Resemble, Remark and Reminisce

November 28, 2004 by Jack Steiner 1 Comment

Ok, it is another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody, nobody awake in the house that is. It makes me kind of happy, even if it is a little lonely. Not that I mind it, sometimes we all need a little solitude to use to gain some perspective about life.

At the moment things are not too bad, at least at the shack they are pretty good. I have a few complaints. I am really too tired to think clearly. I am not sure when it hit me, but at some point in the last hour I realized that I am too tired to express myself in the clear and concise fashion I am used to. Ok, it is not often that I am concise, I do have a proclivity to rant and rave at length, but I can be short.

Perhaps it is the contradiction of states that confuses friends and relatives who do not know me well. When I don’t want to talk, I do not. If there is nothing to say, then I am silent, period.

Are you still moaning about the election?

Yes, I am talking to you, especially if you are part of the pathetic attempt to pacify the world with silly shots of your penned apology on some schmendrick’s website. Call me a jerk, snob, asshole or Jack, I don’t care, but I don’t follow your need to mollycoddle a world that is populated by people who are incapable of controlling themselves.Ok, that is a little harsh, so let me modify it. Too many people allow others to define them. That is they allow the perceptions of others to impact and influence them without regard for whether it is fair, balanced, accurate or truthful.

It is not fair or balanced to equate Bush with Hitler, Saddam or other dictators. The easiest example of this is to remind you that dictators do not allow for dissent. They do not allow the opposition to speak out. You have a website devoted to grovelling, as well as a multitude of other sources in which you can speak out and complain about his every action.

The reality is that the world is not fair, it never was and it never will be. So if you are really upset and you truly mean to do something you can get up and engage in activities that make a positive impact on your community.

I said this in an earlier post and it bears repeating. Get up and do something to help people. Tutor children, clean beaches, recycle, visit the sick and elderly, help feed the homeless and remember that words that are not supported with action are meaningless.

A night With My Son

Last night my son and I spent Shabbos at my parent’s house. It was the first time that I had slept over there in years. He and I slept in my old room. It hardly resembles the room I grew up in. The paint is different, the posters are gone, the carpet is gone, the neighbors have moved and the furniture is almost completely different.My dresser still lives there as does the sticker I placed there in 1974 that marked me as a member of The Six Million Dollar Man fan club.

As the two of us lay there I sat and listened to breathing, that of my son and my father. My parent’s room is just a little off of my room and in the still of the night I could hear my father as he slept and magically my room suddenly contained too four-year-old boys on an overnight. Of course only one of us is almost six feet tall and over 200 pounds, not to mention that only one of us smiled as he remembered some of the companions who had shared a bed in that room. But keep that last remark to yourself, some secrets are better left unsaid.

Death

November 2, 2004 by Jack Steiner 5 Comments

My son asked my wife and I today if we are going to die. Kind of a heavy conversation for a little boy.