Last night, after brushing her teeth and using the toilet, Shea was ready for bed. She called to me as she moved down the hallway, signaling it was time to put on her pajamas and tuck her in. Tracy was picking up a few stray things in Shea's room as I entered and we set about the end-of-day routine. Diaper, check. Pajamas, check. Blankets, check. I leaned in to kiss her good night, but she wanted mommy to go first. I backed away from the edge of the bed and patiently waited my turn to say, "Good night."
As Tracy leaned over Shea's tiny frame in the bed, Shea mumbled something under her breath. Neither Tracy or I quite understood so we asked her to say it again. She looked at us and said, "When are we going to die?"
You're never quite prepared for these moments, when the scope of your child's understanding widens and takes in things that even we are unsettled about. There was an odd pause in the room as Tracy and I tried to get our wits about us.
"Not for a long time, honey," I said.
"Not for a really long time," Tracy backed me up.
"Do you know what that means?" I asked.
Shea got real quiet, pulling the blankets up to her chin and her face furrowed as if she was scared, or unsure. After a moment she said, "Nuh uh."
Okay, I thought. Now what?
"Well, honey, it means that you don't have a body anymore," I said. Tracy added something to the conversation, but I can't remember now what it was.
"Will we all be together in heaven?" she asked.
"Of course we will," I said, "You'll be able to see everyone you love."
"Will I see Jesus?"
"Yes, dear. And Nona and Grandpa, Noni, and Papa."
"My cousins?"
"Yes."
Tracy piped in, "But that's not going to happen for a long, long time. Okay?"
"Okay," Shea said and snuggled deep under the covers of her bed.
"We love you," I said.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you to the moon, back, and then some," Tracy said. The same thing she says every night.
"I love you to Pluto, back, and then some," she said. Then, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.
As I sat downstairs later that night, I was haunted by her questions. I don't know the answers to these things and this is one of the first times that Shea's asked me questions that I find deeply unsettling. In the future, when she asks me a whole new brand of hard question, I wonder what I'll do. Will I lie? Tell a half-truth? Candy coat things? Be brutally honest? Rely on the things that I was told as a child?
There are times when our children amaze us, when their capacities exceed what we expect. There are times when they work as mirrors, showing us our own ignorance and simplicity, where we are forced to realize our own ignorance on matters.
Most days, I feel like I have built my life on solid ground, that I have a decent comprehension of my life and its purpose. On days like yesterday, those structures I've built? They appear to be built on sand.
