Thank-you for Your Life, Little Bird

One day while putting Jude in the swing, I almost stepped on a bird. Startled, I squealed. Jude looked down and saw the young bird, dead, awkwardly splayed out in the grass. 

     "What's wrong with the bird?" 

      "The bird died." 

His expression turned quite sad, so I deliberately pushed him high enough that he couldn't look over the buckle bar on the toddler swing to see the bird below. As he swung, he shouted no gleeful chant - yook out beyow! - as usual. Instead, he quietly asked.

   

     "Why do birds die?" 

I point out almost everything of nature to him  - the starling's chrr-chrrr warning other birds away from the nest. The dance of a sparrow attracting a mate. The long, mournful call of doves. Jude listens and notices with me. Today, for the first time, we must notice death. I really wasn't in the mood for explaining death. I didn't want to answer questions, or have him help me put the bird in a box and bury. Nor did I want him to watch Papaw throw it on the compost pile. 

I still haven't really answered his questions about how birth. How Aunt KK will get the baby out of her belly. I remember mumbling something about a special place in the body for birthing babies, without providing details. One of his favorite books is Once Upon a Potty; it's a toddler's delight with it's mind-numbingly numerous references to body places and body functions. I confess after a month of reading, I hid the book!  But I did love how the book provided me with a simple explanation for birth too. 

Remembering, I took the simple route for the death question too. 

      "I don't always know why birds die. Maybe it fell out of the tree, or didn't get enough to eat. When I get too sad about birds dying I just say - Thank you for your life, little bird."   Jude pondered this for a few seconds.

    "Why?"   

     "Because when something dies, it's important for us to notice. Because I'm thankful for life, and because it helps me feel better."  I looked down as I answered, carefully avoiding stepping on the bird's body as I pushed. And from the highest arch of swing, drifting down on wisteria scented breezes, came the sound of a small boy's happy voice.    

     "Tank you for your yife, yiddle bird."