I had a moment with my daughter tonight, where we had one of those dreaded, serious talks. (No, not the sex talk).
I was combing out her hair after her bath, and she was babbling away to me. I have a small collage of old pictures in a frame in our bathroom, and she was asking me about one of them.
"That is my great-great grandmother. Her name was Retta, but she was called Grammy."
She kept asking me questions, and I just kept talking about Grammy. I never knew her because she died before I was born. This is what I was saying to her when I realized she had picked up on that word.
"Yes, Sweetie, she went to heaven."
I could just see the little wheels turning in her head. I just took a little piece of her innocence away! I don't want her worrying about this at four years old!
"Someday will someone die in this house?"
YIKES! I can't lie to her! What do I say now? I wish I was one of those mothers that just seems to know the perfect thing to say to her kids in every situation, but I'm not! I start telling her that she doesn't need to worry about this when these words come out of her little, adorable almost four-year-old mouth:
"I don't want to die!"
I am a born worrier. My mom worries like nobody's business - so much so she keeps herself awake at night over the silliest things, like how a movie ended. I worry a lot, too. I don't want this for my daughter, especially at this age. I can just picture her laying in her bed at night thinking about death.
A little piece of my heart is now broken. I know this is normal for this age, but since the day she was born I've been wishing there was a way to keep all the heartbreak and hurt and grief away from her, and only let all the good things in. Unrealistic, yes. But this is what makes me a mother.