I don’t dread discussing the birds and the bees with my kids. I don’t think I’ll be uncomfortable talking about drugs and alcohol and all the stuff that comes as they get older. Who knows how I’ll feel at the time, but I just don’t get a pit in my stomach thinking about those conversations.
I do, however, get a pit in my stomach whenever they ask about death. Unfortunately, it’s not that infrequent. They ask what happens to people after they are gone. They ask if kids die young. They ask how long they’re going to live. I want to answer with absolute certainty, that they will live long, happy lives filled with partners and children and joy. That’s all I want for them. But, I can’t answer that with absolute certainty because I just don’t know. It’s the darkest part of motherhood, loving these creatures so much.
Children should come with a lifetime guarantee. They just should.
But, they don’t.
Last week, a fellow blogger suffered the unimaginable loss of her son. She had just posted pictures from their summer vacation and first day of school, a young boy proudly beaming in his uniform along with his little sister. Sweet, precious little faces.
And, in an instant, he was gone. Washed away in a freak flash flood in nearby Virgina. It’s the worst possible pain and I just can’t stop thinking about them.
I’m holding my kids close right now, and hope you do the same. And, I’m closing comments here so you can offer Anna support over at her blog. Perhaps she can find some small comfort in people sending her love. I hope. If you pray, as she does, I know they could use those, too.
And, apologies for the downer posts. I just can’t seem to muster up any funny lately.