Ok, nothing like a three year old child to hit you with reality so often that it finally becomes common place and almost comical. You see, awhile ago K was learning about his grandparents, and when asking where my Dad was, we honestly told him "Mommy's daddy is dead." Oh my goodness, what a huge mistake that was. He is so trying to grasp the concept that the questions keep coming. Every day, several times a day, these (or some variation of these) are the questions. . .
K: Is your Daddy dead?
Me: Yes, honey, he is?
K: Did heaven make him dead?
Me: Heaven is a place, not a person, and heaven did not make him dead.
K: Why is he dead?
Me: He was very sick and died?
K: Did he have a coat?
Me: What?
K: Was he cold, did he have a coat?
Me: No, he didn't die because he needed a coat.
K: Mommy, I'll be an astronaut and bring him a coat and rescue him from Heaven.
Me: Honey, that is very sweet, but really he didn't die because he needed a coat (grasping for straws to explain he didn't get sick because he was cold and needed a coat. . .) he died because he made some bad choices and smoked cigarettes.
K: Is Akachan dead (our cat).
Me: Yes, she is.
K: Did she smoke cigarettes?
It would seem there is no end in sight for this conversation. At least it has replaced in frequency the questions from K about who does and doesn't have a penis. Phew!!! And, after more than 20 years, I can finally talk about my Dad in way that doesn't bring a tear to my eye with the question "is your Daddy dead?" being a matter-of-fact part of each and every day, several times a day. What will be next, I'm almost afraid to find out.
