Tomorrow marks the one-year anniversary of Roger’s death. I use the word “death” intentionally because it highlights the significance of his loss.
This week, my nearly-five-year-old grandson asked, “So, why did Roger die again?” I explained that he had cancer, but quickly moved to, “He was old. His body was tired. So, he died and went to heaven.”
He responded about his nine-year-old dog: “Her body will get tired and die, too. And, she’ll go straight up to heaven.”
Yes, she will. Hopefully not for a while, but yes, your dog will die.
In the next breath, he showed me his toys; he ran, laughed, moved, ran some more.
We filled his bubble-gun and he quickly emptied it. I taught him to play hop-scotch and he changed all the rules. We played baseball, had snacks, and sat in the sun on the driveway, watching the chickadee fly in and out of the bird house by his front window.
The boy has the innate ability to be in the moment, think big thoughts, and appreciate the world as it is. He speaks about his five-year-old birthday, what we’ll do, who will attend. Aware of the current condition, he adds, “after the virus.”
I learn that more than one thing can be true at the same time.