the "death" talk

As mentioned, we are living in the house my grandparents built in the mid-1980's and lived in until they passed away. Since my mom hasn't moved back here yet, she's just slowly been going through things when she's here during vacations, giving things away that are still potentially desirable for others, throwing things away that need to be thrown, packing some stuff into boxes - especially after we came as 'things on tables and shelves' are not ideal with two little kidlets running around. Most of the big things (furniture, paintings and pictures on the walls, wallpaper and other interior stuff like that), however, are still in a good enough condition that there is no rush to start looking at whether or not they will be switched out. Except for the carpet in the livingroom. She got that done a while back.

Anyways, because there are photos up on the walls of my grandparents and great grandparents and various collages of photos of me when I was younger and the extended family, Leona knows who her great grandparents are in the pictures and that they used to live here. That means we've had to have a mention about death, that they are not here anymore physically. I've kept it simple.

Now, another benefit of living in Norway is the lack of bugs. I don't have a sense of dread every time I turn on the light in the bathroom or kitchen or open the door under the sink where we throw away our 'wet' (food) garbage, and I can safely stick my hand into the dark dry pantry cupboard without looking. There are no cockroaches, scorpions, rats, mice or snakes. (OK, so Norway does have rats and mice, but thankfully not in our home, as we have had in Taiwan and as I have had in Vancouver and Maui). I am in heaven.

There are flies though. And a lot of them. Well, relatively. Maybe an average of five or six dispersed throughout a 'heavy' day. So we have a fly swatter. Leone and Eliana love it. Excitedly point the flies out for us to swat, sometimes try the swatter themselves (though Eliana not so much for hitting flies, more bending against her face...mmmm), and Leona is as satisfied as Judge is when a fly is wacked.

One day, a while back, Leona was sitting perched on the back of the couch by the window and started pointing to the balcony saying there was a bird there. I nodded and said "You see a bird?" thinking it was just jumping around and would fly off soon. It didn't, and she was wanting me to come look at it. So I came over, and saw that it was a dead bird, laying there.

[birds often crash into the windows due to the reflection in them when it is cloudy, making the front wall of the house look like it's just a continuation of outside]

We walked out to the bird, me with some newspaper in my hand, and started to explain to Leona that it had crashed into the window and broken its neck. "Did he cry because he was injured?" No, I don't think so. "He can fly again later?" No, he's dead, so he will never move or fly again. I was mentally preparing for a big talk about death now, this being her first real encounter with it face-to-face. I envisioned us going out and digging a hole together, laying the bird gently down into it, picking some flowers to lay on the grave, and all that goes with the sadness of a life lost. "The bird is dead?" Yes. Matter-of-factly, with her usual 'light hearted' inflection: "Like the flies?" Me, surprised: "...yes." And that was that. She was content with her understanding of the situation. Kind of like 'Such is life'.

She walked with me outside - my plan was still to bury the bird. But then I saw a a bracket of trees off a little slope behind the house, and I said to Leona that it was like a hole (it was) and I just unceremoniously tossed the bird there, so that nature could take its course and return it unto itself.

And that was that. Next time we passed the tossing place she said "It is like a hole. We threw the bird there. It couldn't move anymore. It didn't cry though. It died." Yes, yes it did.


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