The Big Questions

Quietly he works on it. Tying and tucking and balancing and getting it just so. Then he moves on to nesting. Blankets and boxes and random bit of jewelry, certain stuffed animals, and the plastic top to a box as a writing desk. Finally he extends the invitation. "Come in mama. Come in to my fort, I made room for both of us."

I peer down wondering how to squeeze my adult proportions into his wee world. Carefully, so as not to literally bring down the house with my bum, I shimmy in. He proudly shows me everything and then asks to lie down. We lay on the floor staring up at blankets and playsilks draped here and there. He lays his head on my chest and starts to talk. And not just a chat about rocket ships and germs and ghosts. He lays into me with the big stuff.

"Mommy, does it hurt when you die?"
"How do you know when you will die?"
"What's on the other side of the universe?"
"Why do people start wars?"
"What's a weapon of mass destruction?" (damn you NPR! Sometimes I don't change the dial fast enough.)
"Why are people bombing and killing in Afganerstam?" (his pronunciation)
"How do you win a war?"
"I wish I was like air so I could live forever and go anywhere I wanted."

*Sigh* He's only 5 and a half. I am not ready for this chat. I try to listen more than talk. I try to say the right thing, but not say too much of anything. I try to hold him and hug peace right into his body. But I know that these things are out there. And I know I can't shelter forever. And I know it's healthy to work through these things, and ask questions, and seek answers, and just ponder the imponderables. We all do it our whole lives. But children are the ones brave and honest enough to say it out loud. And I let him know that mommy doesn't have all of the answers. But more than anything, I am so privileged and so grateful that he trusts me with the questions.