Conversations With A Three Year Old
Conversation with Maddox in the bathtub last night…
Mad: Where did my grandma go?
Me: She died, honey. But she was so happy to get to meet you and she loved you very much.
Mad: I miss her. I want to see her.
Me: I miss her, too, buddy. But we can’t see her.
Mad: I don’t know what happened to my grandma really.
Me: A part of her body just broke one day, and they couldn’t fix her.
Mad: Maybe they could push a button to fix her.
Me: There weren’t any more buttons to push. But she had a good and happy life and we get to remember how awesome she was.
Mad: I feel like I’m going to cry I think.
Me: That’s okay. Crying helps. Crying is good.
Mad: My butt says it misses her too.
Here’s to levity.
That’s awesome! Three-year-olds are so honest in their grief as well, I have found. When my twins died, the hospital child specialist asked him, “do you know why we’re here?” And he said, “Dahlia and Iris died.” And then went back to playing.