And though you die bird, You will have a fine view
Sometimes our lives seem to have very distinct themes woven into them.
The boy I tutor has trouble remembering which is which when it comes to the letters b and d. When he was getting restless during our session on Saturday we took a break to color. I asked him to draw a picture on one side of the page that started with b and something that started with d on the other. So he draws a bed on one side. Fine. Then he flips the page over and started scribbling in black.
"What are you drawing?"
"Death."
"Oh, well, how does that picture represent death?" The picture had developed a bit more.
"Well, this is the ground, it's dark, you know. And this is the grave stone. I wrote 'rip' on it. And this is, these are the bones."
"Do you know what R.I.P stands for?" He shakes his head. "Rest in peace. A grave is the last place a person goes and it's almost like they sleep there forever, and they don't ever have any more problems." How do you talk about death with a six year old?
"When adults die they just become skeletons, but when kids die, they become birds."
Wait, what? "Where did you hear that?"
He went into a long narrative that I tried very hard to follow but had a little trouble with. I gathered that one of his friends died last school year. Something about losing hair and a high fever and the doctors couldn't do anything. He went to the funeral but not the burial.
"And this is a true story?" He had told me lots of stories from television programs and movies in the past.
"Yeah."
But we needed to move on, and he wasn't distractedly emotional or anything. "Well, can you label the picture for me. Here, this is how you spell 'death'."
"I'm makin' um scary letters. Like see here. Theres are gooey drips. You know, my friend might be a vampire or a goblin or a ghost, or you know, maybe just a regular bird."
"I believe that when a child dies he goes to heaven."
"Yeah, but in heaven, people don't die."
This was a very confused conversation and I didn't want to discuss too much. I didn't know what his parents had taught him about death or what they wanted him to know or not know or believe. We moved on to math and dropped the subject.
When his dad was paying me at the end, I mentioned that the subject of death came up and that he might want to talk with his son about it more later. "Oh, yeah. One of his little friends died." he said dryly.
On the ride home I couldn't shake those few minutes of conversation with that little boy from my mind. When I got home I put on an album that deals with death, specifically the death of a small child, very hopefully. I though it might help me mull it all over. What was it about that little boy becoming a bird or a ghost? Strange. Sad. A few hours later on my way to work I saw a little fallen sparrow, stiff in the gutter, his little legs poking straight up into the air.
At work that evening, there was a lull in business and Starla, who is only a few years older than me but has two young boys of her own, were making, bagging and bowing candy. I told her about the events described above and we talked a little about talking to children about serious issues and about how hard it must be losing a child. Then she went on to tell me that she had a miscarrige at 5 months before either of her sons were born. I can't imagine what that might have been like...
I went to bed that night still contemplative about death and children. I woke up to the phone ringing downstairs Sunday morning. It was my dad. His wife's mother was in the hospital, "She probably won't live thought the day," he said, "and will you please pass this on to your brothers and my sisters."
I went to church alone, because for one reason or another, nobody from my family was going. And because of various circumstances none of my good church friends were around for the service either. So I sat by myself, feeling awkward and lonely (but I was glad when I Alan and Bri came and sat behind me). When I should have been listening to the sermon, my mind wandered. I was picturing a reunion with my brothers and my dad and other family in New Jersey, seeing how big Collin had grown, holding him, spending a few days out there and despite the bitterness of a funeral, having a good time with family--catching up with my dad and Susan, spending some time at the beach, enjoying the ocean....
Later in the afternoon my dad called. She had died while I had been in church. I was not really sad. I didn't know Elaine that well. Maybe I had met her four times and had a few short conversations with her. Although, I was sad when my dad said, "I don't think you need to come out here for the funeral, it's just not good timing. But I'll let you know when we have some arrangements made. It'd be nice if you sent some flowers." I was supposed to have seen my dad earlier in July, but he canceled that at the last minute and that's why I went out to see Ian then. I really miss my dad. I'm really going to miss our house. I just want something secure and constant to be able to hold on to sometimes.
While I was picking green beans in the evening I noticed tiny watermelons the size of my fist for the first time on the scraggly vines I had little faith in. Although I won't be around to enjoy them, the sheer joy of growth and success made my day. Some of the garden has flowered and I've been gathering seeds, putting them in envelopes. Maybe I can plant them at my grandparents next spring.
I went 8 miles this morning. First, I mapped out a 4 mile course on my bike, and then I ran it. It was very cloudy and sprinkling on and off, briefly raining. Everything seemed extra green and alive. A good cloud cover draws me out adventuring so much more than a hot sunny day. A rainy mid monday morning, out for a little over an hour and I saw maybe 5 other people total. It felt so dead and alive at the same time.
If there is a meaning or point to life, it's got to be about something that can either be one way or the other and is constantly trying to balance between the two. Whatever that thing is, it's what living is.
I cleaned out and packed up the bathroom last night. I am really a terrible at this. Too much sentimental nostalgia even in the linen closet.
Now I'm just rambling. The frequency of posts and updates will slow when my life picks up speed again, I assure you.
The boy I tutor has trouble remembering which is which when it comes to the letters b and d. When he was getting restless during our session on Saturday we took a break to color. I asked him to draw a picture on one side of the page that started with b and something that started with d on the other. So he draws a bed on one side. Fine. Then he flips the page over and started scribbling in black.
"What are you drawing?"
"Death."
"Oh, well, how does that picture represent death?" The picture had developed a bit more.
"Well, this is the ground, it's dark, you know. And this is the grave stone. I wrote 'rip' on it. And this is, these are the bones."
"Do you know what R.I.P stands for?" He shakes his head. "Rest in peace. A grave is the last place a person goes and it's almost like they sleep there forever, and they don't ever have any more problems." How do you talk about death with a six year old?
"When adults die they just become skeletons, but when kids die, they become birds."
Wait, what? "Where did you hear that?"
He went into a long narrative that I tried very hard to follow but had a little trouble with. I gathered that one of his friends died last school year. Something about losing hair and a high fever and the doctors couldn't do anything. He went to the funeral but not the burial.
"And this is a true story?" He had told me lots of stories from television programs and movies in the past.
"Yeah."
But we needed to move on, and he wasn't distractedly emotional or anything. "Well, can you label the picture for me. Here, this is how you spell 'death'."
"I'm makin' um scary letters. Like see here. Theres are gooey drips. You know, my friend might be a vampire or a goblin or a ghost, or you know, maybe just a regular bird."
"I believe that when a child dies he goes to heaven."
"Yeah, but in heaven, people don't die."
This was a very confused conversation and I didn't want to discuss too much. I didn't know what his parents had taught him about death or what they wanted him to know or not know or believe. We moved on to math and dropped the subject.
When his dad was paying me at the end, I mentioned that the subject of death came up and that he might want to talk with his son about it more later. "Oh, yeah. One of his little friends died." he said dryly.
On the ride home I couldn't shake those few minutes of conversation with that little boy from my mind. When I got home I put on an album that deals with death, specifically the death of a small child, very hopefully. I though it might help me mull it all over. What was it about that little boy becoming a bird or a ghost? Strange. Sad. A few hours later on my way to work I saw a little fallen sparrow, stiff in the gutter, his little legs poking straight up into the air.
At work that evening, there was a lull in business and Starla, who is only a few years older than me but has two young boys of her own, were making, bagging and bowing candy. I told her about the events described above and we talked a little about talking to children about serious issues and about how hard it must be losing a child. Then she went on to tell me that she had a miscarrige at 5 months before either of her sons were born. I can't imagine what that might have been like...
I went to bed that night still contemplative about death and children. I woke up to the phone ringing downstairs Sunday morning. It was my dad. His wife's mother was in the hospital, "She probably won't live thought the day," he said, "and will you please pass this on to your brothers and my sisters."
I went to church alone, because for one reason or another, nobody from my family was going. And because of various circumstances none of my good church friends were around for the service either. So I sat by myself, feeling awkward and lonely (but I was glad when I Alan and Bri came and sat behind me). When I should have been listening to the sermon, my mind wandered. I was picturing a reunion with my brothers and my dad and other family in New Jersey, seeing how big Collin had grown, holding him, spending a few days out there and despite the bitterness of a funeral, having a good time with family--catching up with my dad and Susan, spending some time at the beach, enjoying the ocean....
Later in the afternoon my dad called. She had died while I had been in church. I was not really sad. I didn't know Elaine that well. Maybe I had met her four times and had a few short conversations with her. Although, I was sad when my dad said, "I don't think you need to come out here for the funeral, it's just not good timing. But I'll let you know when we have some arrangements made. It'd be nice if you sent some flowers." I was supposed to have seen my dad earlier in July, but he canceled that at the last minute and that's why I went out to see Ian then. I really miss my dad. I'm really going to miss our house. I just want something secure and constant to be able to hold on to sometimes.
While I was picking green beans in the evening I noticed tiny watermelons the size of my fist for the first time on the scraggly vines I had little faith in. Although I won't be around to enjoy them, the sheer joy of growth and success made my day. Some of the garden has flowered and I've been gathering seeds, putting them in envelopes. Maybe I can plant them at my grandparents next spring.
I went 8 miles this morning. First, I mapped out a 4 mile course on my bike, and then I ran it. It was very cloudy and sprinkling on and off, briefly raining. Everything seemed extra green and alive. A good cloud cover draws me out adventuring so much more than a hot sunny day. A rainy mid monday morning, out for a little over an hour and I saw maybe 5 other people total. It felt so dead and alive at the same time.
If there is a meaning or point to life, it's got to be about something that can either be one way or the other and is constantly trying to balance between the two. Whatever that thing is, it's what living is.
I cleaned out and packed up the bathroom last night. I am really a terrible at this. Too much sentimental nostalgia even in the linen closet.
Now I'm just rambling. The frequency of posts and updates will slow when my life picks up speed again, I assure you.