UNPREPARED

"Mommy, why did Sophia's Dad die?"  Sophia is Scout's friend at preschool who lost her dad to suicide at the age of three. I could see and feel myself drop to my knees in my minds eye. The sensation that ran through me was foreign.  I hadn't planned on answering questions relating to death, not to a three year old. Not now.  I opened my mouth... and it all came pouring out. "Honey, Sophia's Dad was really sick. He died because he was really sick" I tried to explain.  "But why he died" Scout asked again. Bob chimed in; "honey, Sophia's Daddy was very, very sick. He died because he was so sick."  Scout still pondered.  Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled over.  "But why he died?" She was being persistent.

I let it go... fast and furious it poured out of my mouth. "Honey, we ALL die. It is just part of life. We ALL die." I could HEAR Bob's eyes burning through me.  And I kept going.  "Sophia's Daddy died... but you are so very lucky to have YOUR Daddy."

Scout was sucking her binky and her eyes so very tired.  It was edging upon 10:00 p.m. far past her bedtime.
"Why we ALL die?" She continued.  I backpedaled.   "It's okay honey, you are so lucky to have your Daddy! Sophia is sad, isn't she? She misses her Daddy, and we all just have to be thankful."

What  in the hell am I doing?  I am telling a 3 year old that WE ALL DIE!  I hate myself for this.  She doesn't need to know this yet.  My reasoning was this:  I want to be honest and upfront with her about life. I swore I would.  But not about this. Not now.

"But where did he go"  Scout asked.

Now how do I explain this?

"He went up to heaven honey, he is in the sky.  People go to heaven when they die."  I hate myself for saying this. I don't believe this nor does it have any meaning to a 3 year old.  "He floated up to the sky!" I said with reverence! The hole I was digging was just getting deeper.

And that was it.  Tears were streaming down my face.  "Why you crying Mommy" Scout asked concerned.  Why am I crying? I am kicking myself inside.  I'm losing control of this conversation and I know Bob is upset with me for blurting out "We ALL die."  I'm upset with me to.

"It's okay honey, I'm just sad for Sophia not having a Daddy.  But Sophia is so lucky to have you as a friend Scout! And you are so lucky to have a Mommy and Daddy and we both love you so much!"

And as fast and furious as the conversation started, it was over. I felt broken. How, on earth do we tell our babies about death and sickness, pain and suffering?  Or do we?  How much are we supposed to protect them from the difficult realities of life?  Part of my comittment to telling my children 'straight up' is that my parents were SO brilliant at keeping my brother and I "protected."  It was magical how they protected us. did a left us; and it left us unprepared for *real life.*  I don't resent it. I just imagined I would do it a bit different.

And now, I can't take it back.

We all DIE... this is true.  That reality alone makes me choke up.  And I am angry with myself that I couldn't be more clever and discerning with Scout. More prepared. More sensitive.

This conversation happened on my 36th birthday - right as I had been thinking about my own mortality and not being around for my children. The worst, very worst possible thought of missing them, growing and changing and navigating through this life.  

We have no guarantees... this I know. But I am hanging on as tight a I can, trying to soak up every minute, good, bad and indifferent. Because... this is ALL we get. This ONE life. Because we ALL DIE... and every minute counts.  And my children taught me this.

SPEED

I am astounded at how fast time passes. Always have been. When I was eight years old I worried I was getting old. When you have kids for some reason time speeds up. There is a no-stopping requirement for being a parent. You don't ever stop, unless you are sleeping and that is if you are lucky.  If you are ALWAYS moving then time moves with you. 

I looked at Scout's feet in the bath tub last night and they are almost as big as my whopping size 6.  If she is ready to outgrow my feet, what's next?  She is so proud. She keeps telling me "Mommy, you need to eat 5 fruits and vegetables everyday so you can get big and strong."  How do I break it to her that I am as big as I am going to get?   She is so good about eating and drinking her milk.  At her age, I could swear I hid food in my mouth and spit it out when no one was looking.  She actually reaches for carrots and pears. What is going on here?

Sawyer on the other hand is growing by leaps and bounds. He is tipping the scale at 12 lbs. 9oz.  I cannot imagine my life without him and he has been with us for three months.  I feel like I have known him forever. His smile is stunning. When he looks at us his eyes sparkle and it opens my heart up and pulls it out of my chest. I never knew I could love as much as I love these children.  They have so much spirit and so much soul.

Sawyer enjoys watching Scout do everything... and Scout likes the fact that she always has an audience.  He is going to be very impressionable and I know Scout will watch out for him.  He is the gentler soul, like Bob; patient and soft.  Scout - is the electricity in the house.  We work hard to keep up with  her.  She NEVER stops talking... ever.  Bob and I sometimes look at each other over dinner with speaking and knowing eyes "holy shit, we need a break!"

Both kids make time go by too fast.  I want to bottle it. Hold it. Pause it. Stop it.  I want to watch them, hold them, take mental pictures... I don't want it to go so fast.  I try to take as many pictures as possible. I review the days in my head before I go to sleep (when I sleep)  though they all meld together like one big fat ball of play-doh.

The best I can do is be thankful for today. It is all ANY OF US HAVE.  When the kids are with me, which is almost always... I relish, even when I am having 'one of those days...'  I know they are going to grow up fast.  Scout wants to wear make-up and I betcha, Sawyer already wants to be just like his big sister.

I'm going to hold tight to today.  Really freakin' tight.