Explaining

Covid had not given our family a good week. With school moved to online, and no activities, everyone was growing…antsy.

Feeling cooped up, I took our youngest son for a walk. Spring was finally here, and the day was sunny and warm.

All went well for the first few minutes. Then we came across a little, dead bird in the grass beside the sidewalk.

“Oh, the poor little bird!” my son exclaimed, kneeling. With tear filled eyes, he looked up at me. “What happened to him?”

I knelt, too. “I’m afraid he must have just fallen out of the tree and died, Son,” I said. “Poor little guy.”

“Mama, we can’t just leave him here,” he said, softly. “Can we take him home? I promise I will look after him.”

I smiled a little at his enthusiasm. “He’s dead, Son. There’s really nothing you can do for him. Except maybe bury him.”

He thought about that. “Okay. Let’s take him home and I’ll bury him .” He looked at me. “Can you help me?”

I smiled. “Of course, Son. What a kind thing to do.” I found a tissue and wrapped the wee body in it.

He tenderly carried it home and the two of us, in a short, simple ceremony, buried it carefully under our peach tree.

A few days later, his friend, Julie, who lives in the house next door was out in her yard, crying about something.

Ever the tender heart, my son hurried out to talk to his friend through the fence. “Julie! You okay? What’s the matter?”

Through her tears, Julie told him that their dog, Spotty, had died. “He was okay yesterday,” she said. “And he just died.”

The two friends sat out there for a long time, talking, and I was proud of my son and his compassionate impulses.

Finally, he came back into the house, looking rather blue. “Julie’s dog died,” he told me. “Yesterday. She’s really sad about it.”

“I heard. I think you were very kind to go over and talk to her. She really needs her friend right now.”

He nodded, then looked thoughtful. “Julie says he was just dead. Was he mad? Didn’t he like her? How did he die?”

I sighed, trying to think of a way to explain death to my four-year-old, who had already been too exposed this week.

“Well, Son,” I started. “You remember that little bird we found earlier this week? The one you buried in the back yard?”

He gasped and, clutching my arm, looked up at me, his blue eyes wide. “Mom! Did Spotty fall out of a tree?”

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: each month one of the participating bloggers pick a number between 12 and 74. All bloggers taking part that month are then challenged to write using that exact number of words in their post either once or multiple times.

This month’s word count number is: 22

It was chosen by: Karen at Baking in a Tornado

Now go and visit the other participants!

Baking In A Tornado  

Messymimi’s Meanderings