If I don’t write this kind of thing here, I’ll never remember it. I don’t believe H.o.p. will mind, when he’s older.
* * * * *
H.o.p.: Mom, I’ve gotten over my deathitis! I now think of it as crossing to the other side of the road.
Me: That’s what many people call it. Crossing over.
H.o.p.: I know what to tell all my toys when I die, that I am leaving them to my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Me: They’ll like that. I’ll do the same with my toys when I die.
H.o.p.: And I’ll be able to see you again, and dad, and do fun stuff. Like floating in the air.
Me: Floating in the air would be so much fun.
H.o.p.: And I’ll get to meet Miles Davis!
(This was kind of unexpected so I said nothing, but he was already going on.)
H.o.p.: Now I understand what death’s all about, it’s about going to the real world of life. It’s going to the world of spirits. Thank you for helping me get over my deathitis.
Mom: How did I do that?
H.o.p.: Telling me it is like crossing a bridge.
Me: Oh, OK.
H.o.p.: I say bye now to my being afraid of death and hello to my not being afraid of death. I can hug spirits while I’m alive, too. Here, I’ll give you a hug. You are spirit.
Me: Thank you!
H.o.p. (coming back in a bit later): But I’m still scared of bugs. OK? And I’m glad you don’t go on boats because sometimes people can slip off boats and get eaten by sharks.
Me: I suppose it happens, but rarely.
* * * * *
P.S. I’m not sure it isn’t unrelated that we spent an hour, much earlier in the evening, reading “Why did the chicken cross to the other side of the road?” jokes while Marty was trying to figure out why H.o.p.’s Spanish CD wasn’t working.