While explaining to my sweet boy why he wouldn't get to go back to school and see his friends I tried to put the focus on keeping everyone safe. I didn't want him to be scared. I told him that we wanted to keep people from getting sick, not thinking about the repercussions. Over a week later I looked at him, deep in thought, and he asked me why papa got sick, why he wasn't here, and where he was. These are deep thoughts and deep questions for a three year old. Since then, almost every day he asks me if papa will die again, if once this is over he will come back, and why his brother doesn't know papa. His concerns for his brother are my concerns given a voice, said aloud.
I listen to this song again, and again, and again. The words could have been written by my dad himself. I think about how to explain who my dad was to my boys. As hard as it is to hear questions that catch me off guard, it brings relief that he does remember my dad. Words are powerful. "Sick" is what reminded him of my dad. Not smart, wise, talented, or funny. Not that he skied or played rugby or was a horrible dancer. It's a reminder to me that I need to talk about my dad more, as painful as it is, using all of the adjectives that he was.
I'm building a fire to keep you warm long after I retire
'Cause this body is bound to expire tonight
The embers will grow and remind you what you already know
That the night is only a temporary absence of light
In the morning you'll wake with the ashes of a memory
And the sun on your face and I will not seem so far away
