The Death Talk

So, it happened last night. Alexandra and I were walking home from the train, and she asked me, "Mama, who's Luca's daddy?"

For any of you who have been reading my blog for a while, you know that right before Alexandra was born, in May of 2007, our close friend and neighbor Eric died suddenly of a heart attack. He was healthy, a vegetarian, and 34 years old. Two weeks later his wife, also our good friend, Kat, found out she was pregnant. Luca is their miracle son--no exaggeration on the word miracle.

When Alexandra asked me who Luca's daddy was, I didn't know where to begin. I told her that his daddy was our close friend Eric, whom we loved very very much, but he died right before she was born so she never got to meet him. Then she went on to ask some difficult questions, like HOW did he die, HOW does anyone die, WHEN do people die....It was an intense conversation, all within a two block walk until we bumped into our neighbors Jess & JP and the conversation got interrupted and she forgot what we were talking about.

The one thing that she did know, though, was that once someone dies they don't come back. And that, my friends, she learned from Sesame Street. We have the 40 Years of Sunny Days DVD and they have the skit where Big Bird is told that Mr. Hooper's dead and won't be coming back. The first ten times I watched this with her I started tearing up, but now I can watch it without crying (mostly). But as Alexandra matter-of-factly told me that once people die they don't come back, I was so thankful that Sesame Street had taught that to her. Hands down, it's the best children's television out there.

At the conclusion of our conversation, Alexandra said, "Well, sometimes when your daddy gets really old, like 19, they might die. And then other people share their daddies with you." I asked her if she'd share her daddy with Luca, and she bluntly replied, "I think that'd be okay." (In order to fully appreciate her end of the conversation, you have to picture her little head weaving back and forth and her hands gesticulating every statement like a little old Italian lady.)

As always, she lightly entered and exited this conversation, but it's still weighing heavy on me.