(Rachel 3 1/2 years old)

Several months ago I was tucking Rachel into bed and settled in to “talk about the day.” It was holiday season and my mother was staying with us. Rachel started asking me about my mom. Is she really still your mom? And then, still troubled, she turned to the topic of my dad, “Grandpa Jerry,” who had died before Rachel was born. “But where’s your Daddy.” We had never really spelled out death to her. I mean, I’m not one to crash something down on someone’s world unless I’m asked about it. We had talked about him, and how he was in heaven, but never really explained the concept of heaven (like I understand it?!). Every once in a while she’d make a comment about seeing Grandpa Jerry somewhere, like the day she told me she thought she saw Grandpa Jerry at her Dad’s work. It was clear the “heaven” discussion-or lack of discussion- had left her confused. We have the DVD of Charlotte’s Web and Rachel was taken by Wilbur’s emotional line “I don’t want to die.” She’d say it dramatically every now and then not knowing what it meant, but clearly intriqued, and concluding, logically, that it was not something one wanted to do. Now here she was, digging for the truth, suspecting she might know it, wanting it all straightened out.

“But, where is your Daddy?”

I paused. And then I used the “D” word.

“He died.”

“Am I ever going to see him again?”

I paused. She wanted to end the confusion. “No.”

And then she started softly crying, “But that means I only have one grandpa.”

I was blown away. It was dark. I sat thinking about what to say next. I talked briefly about being able to talk to him and he would listen, but it didn’t seem to be the right thing to say at the time so I kept it brief. She needed to mourn and it was so natural and profound and I felt strangely awkward witnessing it because my own mourning had not come so gracefully and automatically.

After this she was preoccupied by death for a while. For example, one night she was happily taking a bath and then blurted out suddenly “Mom, I wish you could come back after you die.” and then continued playing. Another night in her room she suddenly burst out,while trying to pick ou clohtes, “I don’t want to die, I like my clothes.” And she suddenly developed separation anxiety again and had major trauma when I had to leave the house at night for a meeting or a movie, fearing I wouldn’t come back.

I’m sure this is all explained in a chld psychology textbook somewhere. But it was pretty heavy stuff here.

We love you Grandpa Jerry. I wish you could come back, too.