There is Aena (closest approximation I can come up with for spelling
"Long A sound with 'na' on the end" - sort of feel like I'm making up
crazy Utah names/spellings), who died abruptly this fall and Samantha,
who is still living, but, as it turns out, is allergic to blueberries
- and Woodstock always reminds me not to feed Samantha blueberries if
she (Woodstock) forgot Samantha's epi pen.
For months, Aena went everywhere with us - she was 4 (even when
Woodstock was still 3) and was an Orphan. No mention was ever made of
her father, so I'm not really sure what the situation was, but
Woodstock said that her mom got sick and died and she (Woodstock) was
Aena's new mom.
About August, things started to turn for the worst with Aena. She came
down with the flu and Woodstock told me that Aena stayed at home when
we went on our week-long camping vacation. Samantha, a new imaginary
friend, showed up and enjoyed her camping trip. As the fall
progressed, Samantha took more of an active role in Woodstock's life -
accompanying her nearly everywhere we went.
The imaginary friend was quite a demerit against my mothering skills.
I frequently (much to the exasperation of Woodstock) forgot to buckle
Samantha or Aena into a carseat. I inadvertently squashed one or more
imaginary friend when putting groceries in the cart right on top of
the poor imaginary child. I once committed the cardinal sin of
abandoning one in a cart at Home Depot.
So when Woodstock announced that Aena had died, I felt rather bad -
but I wasn't surprised, given that Aena had taken a bit of a back seat
to Samantha recently. I wondered if Woodstock was deep in mourning,
and I felt rather bad that my sloppy mothering of an imaginary child
may have been to blame.
Woodstock's answer surprised me. "I'm not sad," she said.
My heart turned cold and I briefly wondered if I had given birth to a
sociopath. Isn't the first sign nonchalance about things others find
deeply disturbing?!
Casually I asked, "Why aren't you sad? Aena died. I think that is very sad."
Woodstock rolled her eyes (she began practicing to be a teenager about
halfway through her 3rd year of life). "Mom," she said with a dramatic
"going on 13" sigh. "Aena's in heaven. With Jesus and Heavenly Father
and her mom, why would I be sad about that?!"
I will admit, relief flooded me to know that I did not indeed have a
sociopathic child. But I also felt a bit chagrined in the fact that my
child's faith was so absolute that she wasn't sad about death - she
recognized its temporary nature and the blessings of heaven beyond the
veil.
So, Aena is in heaven with her mother and Jesus, and I continue to
drag, squish, run over, forget and generally cause problems when it
comes to the remaining imaginary friend, Samantha (who is,
incidentially, also an orphan - but she is five and goes to
Kindergarten).
I just hope I don't feed her blueberries. I'd hate to have another
lesson on death from a child who clearly understands it much better
than I do.
2 comments:
That was awesome. I needed a good laugh tonight. Thank you! And good luck avoiding those blueberries.
Oh, boy, I laughed all through this post! Except the part about why she wasn't sad. That was sweet. The faith of children is reassuring and wonderful :)
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