January 2016
Dear Finley and Henry,
There’s been a little bit of death going around lately. Mostly old rock stars that you don't know, and may or may not care for. You’re actually getting an easier, introduction to it than most people. Which I think is fortunate for you as young, sensitive souls. And which I know is fortunate for me as a bumbling, foggy-brained parent with less than fully-formed views on the implications of death and dying.
Your cousins’ cat died. Your mom got the news over the phone and gasped "oh no." Finley, you rushed over and asked “mummy, what’s wrong?” A question that opened the door to the difficult subject of death. Scruff was hit by a car, and he died. Then I practically died of sympathy pains when you asked in a 5-year-old’s hushed little voice: “who’s going to fix him?”
Little buddies, nobody can fix him. He is dead. He can’t come back. People will be sad because they miss Scruff. But they will smile when they remember all the fun they had with him and how much they loved him. I know you don’t really get it yet. And I know that sadness combined with confusion is an uncomfortable state of being. But we’re easing into this.
That first conversation was hard enough. My throat starts to constrict when I think that someday we’ll be having a similar conversation but I’ll have to replace the word Scruff with the word Grandpa (sorry to be such a bummer Grandpa! Nothing personal, I promise!).
This is the pain of parenting. Watching you take the physical and emotional bumps and bruises that I know will help equip you for the bigger bumps and bruises down the road. Watching you develop sympathy and process sadness. Wishing I could protect you from everything (don’t worry about it, cat heaven is awesome - fake smile) while knowing that over-protection actually leaves you more vulnerable in the long run. Struggling to equip you to handle challenges for which I myself feel under-equipped. Distracting you with Rescue Bots because frankly this is a big world where you can find sadness without having to look too hard, but you still have to function and smile and contribute. And sometimes Optimus Prime, or hide-and-go-seek, or a walk through the woods is just what you need. Because boys you would really be missing out if you let all the world’s sadness overshadow all the world’s beauty and fun and adventure.
From what I hear, Scruff was a good cat. And we can count among his good deeds on this earth that he taught us a little bit about processing tough emotions. Here’s to Scruff.
Love,
Your Dear Old Dad