“Tell me the story about my dad, Mom,” Jordan asked while I was fixing lunch.
“What story?” I asked, thinking he wanted me to tell him about hiking on Father’s Day or changing his diaper in the backseat of the car or going to Menards.
“The story about how he died,” my son replied.
My lips tightened.
“Did my dad see the car?” Jordan asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Why didn’t he try to run away?”
“He did,” I told him. “He ran very fast.”
“How do you know?” he asked me.
“Because I knew your dad very well, and I know he could run very fast…like Spiderman.”
Jordan smiled, like he already knew that. “What day did my daddy die?”
“Tuesday, September 6th” I replied, thinking that little boys shouldn’t have to ask such big questions.
I wondered if what he was really asking me was what day did life so drastically change.
I just finished typing you an email and thought I would check out your blog quick before trying to regain focus on my work. I can't begin to tell you how many times I had asked this question to my Mom about my Father's death. Even now that 32 for some reason I still want to ask her it but try to refrain to not cause her pain. I don't know why I need to hear it or why I still have the desire to ask but I guess the reason I'm telling you this is because hearing that your sons asks makes me think that it's a very normal response. Maybe it's our way of trying to cope with the grief. God bless you both! Jennifer L.
Posted by: Jennifer L. | August 03, 2009 at 01:43 PM