Saturday afternoon, we sit at the dining table munching on various pieces of fruit. The ‘we’ consisting of the mentalist and I, ceebeebies blaring in the background. I try to distract her enough to change the channel and switch to the Come Dine with Me marathon.
As i try to distract her with fruit and topics of conversation, she starts to regale me with stories of her adventures. These stories constantly changing, and jumping from one place to another often involving her teddy buttons, some of her class mates and even dear old daddy.
It is when she starts talking about her dad she falls quiet. Lost in thought, contemplating and thinking over and upon her most inner thoughts. I watch and study her as she sits there, not really paying attention to the television, i await the inevitable… “Daddy..?” and there it is… The question! The question based upon her recent bout of thought and contemplation. “Yes sweetheart?” i respond, turning the TV to mute.
“Daddy… Are you going to die?” She asks innocently, I’m a little taken aback as to the nature of this 4 year olds questioning. I pause, thinking how i should respond… “What makes you ask?” I enquire, trying to decipher what is going on in her little head. She pauses, gives a shrug and asks again “Are you going to die?” At this point, I think back to whether or not ive contributed anything which may have encouraged this line of questioning, I don’t think I have?
So as she stares at me I try and formulate some sort of answer in my head. But is that the best approach, I ask myself. After a couple of minutes of silence I decide to answer with the truth “yes, I will die one day”. She looks at me thinking over my answer “But you can’t ? You’re new?!” This makes me chuckle, and in turn makes her laugh. As we settle down to continue our conversation I do tell her that we all will pass away one day, some sooner than others, that it’s all part and parcel of life. To which she acknowledges with a brief nod of her head and a request to watch horrid Henry !
Well that went well I think to myself as we settle onto the sofa, time to relax I think as we start watching Horrid Henry.
Well.. We manage five minutes of it anyway before the inevitable ….”Daaad….”
This is Mr J signing out