From the Mind of a Child

Tonight, just after I pulled into the driveway of church connection group at my friend's house, five year old Peyton peaks into the back seat and asks, "Mrs. Bon Bon, where is Baby Gaby's car seat?" 

After taking a moment to catch my breath, I crouch down and answer, "Sweetie, don't you remember, Gaby Baby is an angel in Heaven now."

She bites her lip and looks embarrassed.  The expression on her face says, "Oh, shux, I forgot!"

"If I got to keep him, I would need a car seat, though, wouldn't I?" I reassured her that it wasn't a foolish question.

When I went inside, her mother told me that Peyton couldn't stop talking about Gabriel while getting ready for church this morning.  I already knew that little Peyton prayed for Gabriel everyday.  His picture hangs on their bathroom mirror as a daily reminder.  This morning, though, she asked questions like, "Why did God want Gabriel to be an angel?  Why not me?"

Later, as I was leaving, Peyton reached out to hug me and said, "I can't wait 'til Tater Tot gets here."  At those words, I knew I needed to sit down and clear things up with her, if that was even possible. 

I tried to be clear about explaining to her that both Gabriel and Tater Tot are dead.  I usually don't say "dead" when I'm talking about my babies, but this conversation required me to be blunt.  I told her that Gabriel was my real live baby that I gave birth to, that he came out of my "private girl area" where babies come out.  I had him, and then he died. 

"But why did he die?" she wanted to know.  I could tell she has been trying to wrap her mind around this as long as I have.

"He was sick," I told her.  "You know how you have a brain inside your head that makes you smart?"  She nodded that she understood.  "Well, Gabriel didn't have that.  His organs inside his body didn't work right, so he died."

"How old was he when he died?" she asked.

"He was newborn, just two hours old.  Two hours is how long we are at church in the morning.  It's how long I've been here tonight.  That's not very long, is it?"  She shook her head.

"Well, I can't wait for Tater Tot to come out of you," she says again. 

"No, honey," I say.  "Tater Tot died, too.  She was only this big (I made a circle with my thumb and index finger to illustrate my point).  I didn't get to hold her or put clothes on her like I did with Gabriel."

"Well," she thinks about it.  "We know what Gabriel looks like, but we don't know what Tater Tot looks like."

"That's right.  Now, do you understand?" I ask her.

"Yes, Tater Tot is still inside you," she tells me.

"No, no, no.  Tater Tot is not inside of me.  I don't have any babies inside of me anymore.  Do you understand where Gabriel and Tater Tot are?"

"In Heaven," she says, but I can tell she isn't sure.

"Now, I might have a different baby in my belly one of these days, but it won't be Gabriel or Tater Tot," I tell her, still trying to clear up her confusion.

"Maybe that baby won't die," she says hesitantly, as if it's too much to hope for.

"We're going to pray real hard, aren't we?" I say, so sad for this conversation that a five year old should never have to be a part of.

"Then you'll have three babies," she realizes, "but you'll only have to take care of one of them.  That will be easy!"  Peyton is the middle child of three girls, so she knows what she's talking about on this.
As hard as it is for adults to understand that babies can die, children cannot comprehend it at all.  It doesn't follow the natural order of things.  People die when they are old.  Babies can't die, can they?  Should they?