"I hate old people!"
"I don't want to talk to him because he's old."
"When will you be old? When you're old, I don't want to be your friend any more."
"Old people die."
My grandfather passed away in July. At his home, surrounded by family, surrounded by love. It was the right way, to keep death in the family. To be there, to support one another, to cry together and laugh together and sit, quietly, together.
It was the right way.
Gabriel was there. Gabriel's my family and that was right and that was okay. It wasn't a gruesome death but it was a death all the same and people have reacted strangely to the knowledge that children were flitting in and out while my grandpa was flitting away.
So Gabriel wants to know why his grandpa died.
Because he was old. He lived a long life and that's what happens and that's okay.
So Gabriel says he doesn't like old people, because he doesn't want them to die.
And that's okay too.
But sometimes I just don't know what to say.
This post was partially was forced to the front of my head by these three posts that popped up in my reader this morning.