I miss that little person...
Today, I overheard this conversation upstairs between Cayden and her little friend. “The baby is dead! And it’s all your fault! We need to go to the real doctor STAT!” The two girls were playing doctor and unfortunately, Cayden’s friend had taken too long to retrieve the life-saving pretend syringe. Death is an experienced reality in my 4-year-old’s life. Cayden Elizabeth Ann was named after my good friend and mentor, Beth, who died two months before Cayden was born. Beth’s parents have become like grandparents to my girls, and we often talk about how Beth is in heaven now. Death came up again when my mom’s dog died. Then it was the flowers. Spiders die when she squishes them. Simba’s dad died. And baby brother died before she ever got to meet him. Sometimes when I am chatting with some stranger at Les Schwab about how old my kids are and such, Cayden will matter-of-factly pipe in, “You had another baby too, but he died.” Like I forgot. Like this woman next to m