I celebrated Christmas with my kids, my brother and my nephews yesterday. Unfortunately, my sister in law could not be with us because, sadly, her father passed away in the morning. His body gave way to a degenerative disease akin to Parkinson's, but different, called something I can neither spell nor pronounce. He deteriorated slowly - losing his balance, then losing his way and finally, relegated to his bed seemingly in and out of consciousness.
When my kids asked why Aunt Rachel didn't come to dinner, I told them that her dad had died and she was very sad. Virgil, without missing a beat, said: did he die of cancer? No, I said. Aids? No. Something else.
I found it strange that these were the first two things he guessed. Cancer, I suppose I understand. His maternal grandmother suffered and survived cancer a few years ago and we have discussed what it means to be sick in that way. Aids, well I'm not sure. On second thought, I suppose I am. He's walked in more than one Aids Walk, on one occasion with me and his father. On another, with his other grandma. It prompted a discussion about what Aids is and how one gets it. Not an easy subject.
And I guess with no religion in our house (thus no talk about heaven and its opposite), and all grandparents alive and kicking, his only experience with talking about death has been those conversations. I'll have to expose him to other ways to pass. Like simply letting go as a result of old age. This should be a slightly easier conversation than explaining the ways that Aids is contracted to a kid who asks A LOT of questions.
Certainly a child shouldn't think the only ways to go are to suffer from ravaging diseases. I'd like for my boys to believe in or simply be aware of gentler ways to go.
Rest in peace, Richard. Love to Rachel, Jason, Jonathan and Roberta.
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