Conversations about death; continued.

I wonder what goes on inside William's head sometimes. This morning he asked me 'Did you go to Big Man's funeral Mommy?'

It is so very sweet to me that if one day the entire E Street Band should turn up unannounced for tea and toast, my child would not bat an eyelid. At this point, Bruce and the band are just so much white noise in the background of his little life. Why on earth wouldn't I go to Big Man's funeral? (Larger than life sax player Clarence Clemons passed away suddenly last June after a stroke).

'No', I said. 'I did not go'.
'Does everyone have a funeral?' he asked.
'Most people have funerals, yes.'
'Well, you're coming to MY funeral aren't you?'

Me: I really, REALLY hope and pray that I never have to go to your funeral, my love.
William (indignant): WHAT? You won't come to MY funeral? WHY NOT? I swear, he was about to cry.

OK. So, life lesson #2344556. I try my best to explain. If things go according to plan, the parents will die before the children because they are older and have already lived their lives when God decides it's time. The children need their own time to grow old and live their lives before they die. That's the circle of life. If the child dies first, it usually means something super bad has happened.

William: So, you would cry if you had to go to my funeral?

Me: Child, you have no idea how much I would cry. In fact, I'm pretty sure I would need my own funeral my heart would be so broken.

William: Oh, so we'd be together anyway, right? You wouldn't be crying for long! And I bet we'd see Big Man up there in heaven too!

He moves happily onto the next thing that pops into his head but he has unwittingly tapped into my greatest fear. I don't know if other mothers are like me but from the moment I first held him in my arms I have (very) often been paralyzed by the thought that I might lose him. Dire Scenarios R Us. I am genius at this. The car that slams into us while we wait at a light. The truck on the highway that gets too close, clips our car at speed and sends us careening down an embankment to a fiery end. Except I survive. The fall off a bed that snaps a spine. The maniac who kidnaps him in Walmart*. The fatal disease that blindsides us. And so on in that jolly manner.

Before anyone feels the need to enlighten me, I am aware this is a completely useless skill set. And it's not like I set aside time each day to dwell on the many ways things could go belly up around here. These thoughts come unbidden and when I catch myself projecting doom I try hard to make myself stop.

I think it happens because I am acutely aware of my blessings. And I know that unspeakable crap happens to good people sometimes.

I know one other thing. I am thankful William has the framework of the concept of Heaven to work with at this tender age. Some people think this is perpetuating a fairytale but you know, to each his own. With no Heaven to contemplate, how do you help a child make sense of life and death when their inevitable questions come? How do you make sense of it for yourself for that matter? I am truly interested. What do people tell their children about suffering and death if they don't believe in a higher power or the hereafter? That shit just happens and then you're gone? I don't buy it.

*Why do I single out Walmart as a venue for child stealing? Oh, no particular reason.  I could just as easily have said Target. But. I. Didn't. 

Clarence and Bruce. Things will never be the same without you, Big Man.