Remembrance, In Their Own Language

I don't talk about death much with the children - and I certainly don't blog about it -  and I don't go into that Celtic mode, of my forebears on both sides of the family, of ritually-making-everyone-sad-about-someone-who-died-some-time-ago.  But still the subject of death and lost loved ones comes up, and when it does, you have to give it the proper attention, sobriety, empathy.

What surprises me about Daniel, in particular, is his tendency to become not merely emotional, but really sentimental and wistful about lost loved ones.  When my aunt was dying of cancer a year ago, I told the boys about it, and Daniel responded, in a tone you seldom get from a then-six-year-old boy:  "Oh - she's so sweet!  Why does she have to die?!"  And this about someone that he saw about once a year.  She was always nice to us, and apparently this fact registered with him.

All three children get wistful for lost pets, no matter how long ago we had them.  When we were moving out of the old house, about four years ago, Ian was lingering in the yard before we left.  When I asked him what he was doing, it turned out that he was visiting the grave of an old friend:  "I was saying goodbye to Buster, and telling him he was a good hermit crab."

Both boys miss Nikkei the Dog.  This creature died years ago, and he was a crazy dog that didn't seem to have any palpable affection for the boys (as far as I could tell), but they still mourn him.  Some months ago, we were playing a CD with music apparently from Prince Edward Island (a promotional tourism CD), which included a track with a woman singing a bonnie bonnie Scottish song, slowly and with a touch of melancholy.  One of the boys - I think it was Ian, but maybe Daniel - told me that for some reason, this song reminds him of Nikkei.  I simply can't imagine how maudlin Maritime Canadian fiddle-music could bring to mind an insane little Chihuahua-ish mongrel, but somehow, the lad connected the two, and the song made him cry for a dog we used to have.

And tonight, after lights-out, Daniel spontaneously started talking about my brother, who died of cancer just over three years ago.  Daniel has mentioned missing him before - especially moving, considering that Daniel had barely turned four when my brother passed away.  But tonight, he really had something to say, and he said it in that singsong, mournful tone that children have when they're on the verge of tears:

"I wish Uncle  Joseph was alive a lot more than I want Lego Batman."

It's hard to imagine a clearer articulation of love from a seven-year-old boy.

(April 29, 2013)