I Got the Question

No. It wasn’t about sex.

It was about death.

A few months ago, I wrote about my then almost 4 year old daughter asking about her grandfather – my dad – who died years ago.

She seemed to be happy with the answers I gave her, then.

Recently, she started talking about getting a cat. We had a cat but we had to put Fidget down when N was still a baby. I don’t think she really remembers her except for the photos that we have about.

“Do you remember Fidget?” I asked her.

Image

Fidget Saville

“Fidget?”

“Yes, Fidget. Our cat. We had a cat named Fidget.”

“No. Where is she?”

“She died. She got sick and died.”

“Oh. Like Grandpa?”

“Yes, like Grandpa.”

And then I saw it: the wheels turning.

“Could I die?”

My stomach dropped to my toes. “Could you die?” she then asked, a growing look of concern spreading across her face, the little frown wrinkles in the middle of her forehead forming though not yet leaving a permanent line. Yet.

I knew I should tell the truth: that we all die. That it is the way of life. But I couldn’t do it.

“Not for a very, very long time. I don’t want you to worry about it.”

She still looked worried.

But she moved on. For now.

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2 thoughts on “I Got the Question

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