Questions of Fear

Yesterday Fisher asked me if I could live all the way until next Halloween. I told him I'd do everything in my power to do so. Earlier in the day the kids and I were driving and came across the first quiet seconds of the aftermath of an accident. There was a truck in the ditch that had veered off the road and flipped numerous times--you could tell by the tracks in the earth and the dents and chunks of grass on the roof of the truck. The lone occupant--a woman--sat in the driver's seat with her hands held up to her face in shocking wonder. The driver of another truck was making his way to the scene. I told the kids to think of her--to send hope that she was alright. We talked about the seriousness of driving, how we need to stay alert and be safe. I don't know if it was the accident or a song he heard or just his sensitive mind, but Fisher was truly concerned about my safety last night. I took the kids out to dinner because the weather and early dark left us stir crazy and all throughout Fisher kept asking what would happen to him and to Phoenix when I died. He was particularly concerned about being alone with no one to care for him and no way to get in touch with anyone. Who would come get him, who would take him to school, and what if he died--what would happen to Phoenix then? With every question his face tensed, withholding tears. I did my best to ease his mind--told him police officers have ways of finding and contacting relatives, told him our neighbors would help, that he would never be alone because so many people love him. I showed him how to dial 911 on my phone and I promised him that we would go visit the neighbors today to discuss what to do in the case of an accident. With every answer I gave I could see his face lighten, could see the gears of his mind clicking away through his eyes. We held hands as we ate. I'm here now, I said, so lets enjoy this moment and all the ones hereafter that we share. I sang him that Tom Petty song that goes "most things I worry about, never happen anyway..." Sing it again he said. And I did.

Fisher's preschool picture