Putting It In Perspective

Sometimes it takes something sad to remind me how fortunate I am. Yesterday was one of those days. I was having a bad day. It's not necessary to go into details. Little things were bothering me. Then when I picked my daughters up from school I quickly remembered why it's important to blow off the small stuff.
As my daughters left school, Roo's speech therapist approached me and apologized for not working with her that day. Apparently the therapist had spent the morning calling parents to let them know a preschooler had died over the weekend. In that instant, I forgot about my "troubles."
The young boy was not in my daughters' class, nor do we know him, but it still hit home. Apparently he had a "medical condition." It's not my business so I didn't ask more questions. Counselors were going to be at the school in the afternoon (he was an afternoon student) to talk with his classmates and their parents.
The thing that really struck a chord with me is that this boy was a twin. All day long I thought about his family: his brother who likely had a close bond with him; his parents who will always celebrate his birthday and it will surely be bittersweet to only have one of their sons around. 
I can't imagine the pain. Nor can I imagine what the teachers and counselors are able to say to such young children to bring them comfort and quash their fears. My thoughts are certainly with this family right now.

A Delicate Conversation

I spoke too soon in my last post when I discussed the lessons my daughters learned from the death of our cat, Elwood. The very next day I had an emotional conversation with one of my daughters... a conversation which is still bothering me.
It all started with a trip to the zoo. During our adventure, we saw "Foxes on Stilts." (I can't remember what they were really called). Near their habitat, a zoo volunteer had a table set up with a fox pelt. There were too many big kids around, so we didn't venture over there. Still, my daughters caught a glimpse of it and wanted to know why "the bones weren't in the fox." I tried to explain to them what a pelt is. They still wanted to know why the bones weren't in the fox. I explained to them that the fox had died and the zoo workers wanted visitors to be able to see the fur up close. The conversation was over. Until....
Later at home, the girls started talking about the fox again and pondering how he might have died. I tried to end the conversation by saying "He was probably very old." Then it happened. "Oh," said Sue Sue. "So animals die when they get old. But not people, right?" I explained to her that even people die when they are old. "But not mommies,right?" she asked. In an instant I knew I had reached a crucial moment. I could lie to her, which I wasn't willing to do, or I could tell her the truth. My answer was something along the lines of this: "Yes, even mommies die, but most of the time it happens when mommies are very, very old. I plan to be around for a long, long time." One of her sisters distracted me and we moved on. Then I happened to glance at Sue Sue. Tears were welling in her eyes. I asked her what was wrong. "I'll miss you when you die!" She wailed. This, of course, made tears stream down my face, too. I pulled her to my lap, hugged her tight and had a quiet conversation with her. I tried to explain that even though Mommy will die some day, it's not going to be any time soon, if I have anything to say about it. We spent a lot of time snuggling that day.
Since then, all four girls have had more questions about death, especially when it comes to Mommy and Daddy. I've tried to be as honest as possible, while still putting it on a level a four-year-old can understand... but really, who can understand death?