Photo courtesy of Molly Brennan

In reviewing the posts I’ve written so far for this blog, I’m struck by how negative they seem, like all I do is wallow in the ambivalence that I feel about motherhood and the difficulties of balancing work and life. That may be true sometimes, but there are also so many things I love about being a mother. And that right there is what makes this whole thing so complicated for me. It’s never about hating it or loving it, about feeling incredible joy or deep dissatisfaction. It’s about feeling all of that, plus more, sometimes in the course of a single hour.

Case in point: Dinner table last night. It’s just me and the kids, and we’re talking about my grandfather’s recent death. We’re all going down to Connecticut for a graveside memorial service this weekend, and I thought I should at least broach the subject. I’ve told them that Big John, as we all call my grandfather, died because he was very old and got sick, and that we’re going to say goodbye to him this weekend. Maybe not the best explanation, but I’ve never done this before! The ensuing conversation was priceless:

Eliza: Will he be buried? When we walk in a graveyard are we walking on people’s bodies?

Finn: I know a horse that died, right mommy?

Silas: Are we sad?

Me: Yes, it’s sad when someone you love dies. Some people might cry when we say goodbye to him.

Silas: Will Mamie (my mother, their grandmother) cry?

Eliza: Do kids cry when people die?

Finn: Have you ever heard of a pig who died?

Me: Sometimes kids cry.

Eliza: Now that Big John died, will Baba (my grandmother) live all alone?

Me: Yes.

Eliza: Then Baba will die and we’ll all be sad and no one will live there.

Me: That’s true.

Finn: Have you ever heard of a horse that jumped off a dock?

Silas: Will we see Big John?

Me: No, he won’t be there.

Silas: Oh.

Finn: The one eye horse at the farm died.

Me: That’s true, that horse did die.

Finn: Why?

Me: I’m not sure.

Eliza: It got old and sick and died, and now there’s a girl horse.

Silas: Why?

Finn: Did you ever hear of a cat that died?

Silas: Please be I may excuse?

That two-minute conversation was a sharp reminder of the mysterious, and in many ways, magical process of growing up. They have these blank little minds that are just learning about concepts like death or stars or the fact that horses can swim, and you can practically see the neurons firing before your eyes during these kinds of conversations. At almost two years older than the boys, Eliza is taking what she knows and extrapolating it out. If Big John was old and he died, then Baba, who is also old, will die too. The boys are still working out what death is, and that it happens to people and horses and pigs.

Having a ringside seat to this whole process of learning how to think and reason and learn and be a part of this world that we all live in is incredible. It’s one of the reasons why, as difficult as I sometimes find it, I don’t ever regret making the decision to become a parent.

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