Death Lesson from Jador
A few days ago, my little girl’s Betta fish, Jador (zha-door), died.
It wasn’t sudden. He had been listless and unresponsive most of the time for a few days, and by Thursday night he was gone.
Liv had been at her grandparents’ all day, and I had a meeting Thursday night, but I wanted to be the one to tell her. So, my wife did the prep work, talking to her about what life was, and what the spirit was, and what happened when our bodies stopped working.
It brought up some things Tricia and I have talked a little about already, but you begin to see the complexity once you really have to enact your theories. Tricia told Olivia that the spirit goes to heaven and can play there after the body dies, which I know raises eyebrows among the folks I know. As though any mention of heaven means I swallow all Christian cosmology hook-line-and-sicker, and that I’ll also teach Liv about hell. But, I won’t, because I don’t buy it, and we’re not teaching of a heaven ruled by a patriarch and filled with angels, either. I know all this, and have been planning for it, but putting that teaching into action is going to be tricky.
Still, Liv took it all in well. Tricia said that as they were cuddling and talking, Livvie would ask questions, try out this idea of being alive on the living things she knew. “Spikey is alive, right? He breathes. And then, someday, his body won’t work. And his spirit will go into the air and he’ll play in heaven.”
So, Liv wakes up on Friday morning, and we cuddle for a little bit ad talk about what we are going to have for breakfast. Then, I say “Olivia, Daddy has to talk to you about something. Jador died.”
She looked at me for a minute with an inscrutable expression. I was sure that both of us would end up crying (yes, it is just a fish, but I’m a sensitive man, especially when it comes to animals, and she is two). I asked her if she wanted to see him and she said yes.
She looked a Jador and then looked up at me.
“Jador’s body stopped working?”
“Yeah, BabyGirl.”
“And his spirit is playing in heaven?”
“Yeah, BabyGirl.”
“And, we’re going to get a new fish at the store.”
She looked at me funny when I laughed. It isn’t the first time I’ve been surprised by the incredible flexibility of my child’s mind. I guess in a way I was almost a little disappointed that she wasn’t as upset as I would have been at her age, that I couldn’t comfort her because she doesn’t really need it.
But, what I find most encouraging is the adaptability, the ability to take on new concepts so quickly. It makes me hopeful that when we come to the more complex discussions of heaven and God that she will be able to negotiate her way through, and not have to swallow other people’s narratives whole. That she’ll be able to grok, if not necessarily accept, the notions of heaven without hell, of God without Chrsitinaity, of truth without the need to be right.
I know, I know, it is just a fish and a little girl able to accept a little bit of loss, but these are the moments that make the hard days worthwhile, the belief, however fleeting, that your child will weather the world, and that you may be able to play a part in it.
It wasn’t sudden. He had been listless and unresponsive most of the time for a few days, and by Thursday night he was gone.
Liv had been at her grandparents’ all day, and I had a meeting Thursday night, but I wanted to be the one to tell her. So, my wife did the prep work, talking to her about what life was, and what the spirit was, and what happened when our bodies stopped working.
It brought up some things Tricia and I have talked a little about already, but you begin to see the complexity once you really have to enact your theories. Tricia told Olivia that the spirit goes to heaven and can play there after the body dies, which I know raises eyebrows among the folks I know. As though any mention of heaven means I swallow all Christian cosmology hook-line-and-sicker, and that I’ll also teach Liv about hell. But, I won’t, because I don’t buy it, and we’re not teaching of a heaven ruled by a patriarch and filled with angels, either. I know all this, and have been planning for it, but putting that teaching into action is going to be tricky.
Still, Liv took it all in well. Tricia said that as they were cuddling and talking, Livvie would ask questions, try out this idea of being alive on the living things she knew. “Spikey is alive, right? He breathes. And then, someday, his body won’t work. And his spirit will go into the air and he’ll play in heaven.”
So, Liv wakes up on Friday morning, and we cuddle for a little bit ad talk about what we are going to have for breakfast. Then, I say “Olivia, Daddy has to talk to you about something. Jador died.”
She looked at me for a minute with an inscrutable expression. I was sure that both of us would end up crying (yes, it is just a fish, but I’m a sensitive man, especially when it comes to animals, and she is two). I asked her if she wanted to see him and she said yes.
She looked a Jador and then looked up at me.
“Jador’s body stopped working?”
“Yeah, BabyGirl.”
“And his spirit is playing in heaven?”
“Yeah, BabyGirl.”
“And, we’re going to get a new fish at the store.”
She looked at me funny when I laughed. It isn’t the first time I’ve been surprised by the incredible flexibility of my child’s mind. I guess in a way I was almost a little disappointed that she wasn’t as upset as I would have been at her age, that I couldn’t comfort her because she doesn’t really need it.
But, what I find most encouraging is the adaptability, the ability to take on new concepts so quickly. It makes me hopeful that when we come to the more complex discussions of heaven and God that she will be able to negotiate her way through, and not have to swallow other people’s narratives whole. That she’ll be able to grok, if not necessarily accept, the notions of heaven without hell, of God without Chrsitinaity, of truth without the need to be right.
I know, I know, it is just a fish and a little girl able to accept a little bit of loss, but these are the moments that make the hard days worthwhile, the belief, however fleeting, that your child will weather the world, and that you may be able to play a part in it.
posted by JJisafool at 8:37 AM
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