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THE DEATH TALK
I wanted to get everything I had to do…out-of-da-way so I could relax and start enjoying my vacation. But, who knew running my errands would turn into a death encounter for my two young granddaughters?
My father had passed away several years ago and due to the economy, his house still sits empty. After pulling up to Daddy’s, I tromped through the long grass, around the perimeter, and peaked in all the dirty windows making sure the place did not have obvious damage or squatters living there.
My daughter was driving and my granddaughters Trista 4, and Kalese 3, where strapped into their car seats waiting for Gramma Pamma to come back to the van.
Satisfied with my inspection I ran back through the soggy weeds and jumped into the toasty vehicle. Suddenly both girls started hollering at me. Strapping on my seatbelt I turned and said, “What did you guys say?”
Together they said, “Sorry ‘bout your dad.”
Ohh…. How sweet is that? When I saw their tear filled puppy-dog eyes and quivering lips I knew the girls were worried that Gramma Pamma was upset about loosing her daddy.
Oh please Lord, help me; I don’t want to explain death to my grandkids. Therefore, without further ado I gently said, “Well thank you girls. It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” Then I plastered a big smile on my face and yelled. “Who wants to go to Donald’s?” Instantly frowns turned upside down and high-pitched girl screams filled the air. Whew! I dodged a bullet, although my ears were ringing from those piercing girl squeals.
The next morning as the girls and I sat around the table eating Gramma Pamma’s pam-cakes, Trista asked me, “Where is your mom at?”
OMG, I was not off the hook. Choking down the dread of saying the wrong thing and upsetting the girls, I felt my belly tighten. Softly I said. “My mom’s been gone a long time.”
Trista continued to drill me. “Is she lost?”
“No she died.”
With her mouth full of pam-cakes Trista spewed. “She sick?”
For heavens sakes, I didn’t want to freak the child out. I certainly did not want to say that my mother had Parkinson’s and had been bedridden for years. And if Trista thought someone could die if they got sick, she might worry too much whenever the flu goes around so I said, “Ummm no…actually my mom died because she was old, not because she was sick”.
Trista swallowed a huge bite, cocked her head, held up her hands, and said in a matter of fact voice. “But…you need your mom to talk to.”
Then Kalese, who had been listening to the conversation, slowly stood up on her chair looked at my face with wide eyes and a quivering lip whispered, “Sorry ‘bout your dad”.
Honestly, the vacation memories that I took home were not about the dinners, the movies, nor the parties. What I’m holding dear to my heart, is that treasured talk I had with two softhearted little girls around the breakfast table.
