blessednbabbling











{July 18, 2011}   3 Years Old

*this is my most emotional piece yet, I cried myself to sleep  when I finished this piece. It was after 3am and I BADLY wanted to call somebody but I didn’t want to interrupt any of my friends’ sleep. I sobbed uncontrollably until sleep overtook me*

I looked at my desktop background (which is a picture of my 3 nieces) just now and realized that two of them are the age I was when my daddy (their granddaddy) passed away. That age is 3, my other niece is 5.

I think about their comprehension level and figure that I had that same level when I was that age. I think about how they look at me and probably believe that I’ll live forever because at 3 they don’t know any better.

They have yet to experience death. {{Well, the 5 year old has, she lost her grandmother last year}}

Which ultimately led me to believe that I had absolutely NO clue what was going on around me when my daddy died. I’ve heard stories about how I almost got left at the daycare and how I only cried because my mama and brother were crying. I’ve seen pictures too. But that doesn’t mean I understood what was going on.

I had no idea that the man I called daddy would be physically gone from me forever. I had no idea that from then on he’d only live in my heart and the hearts of those who knew him.

I can only imagine how my mother explained to me that I’d no longer be able to SEE my daddy and I often wonder what EXACTLY it was that she said to me. How did she start the conversation and when she asked me if I understood, what did I say? I’ve yet to ask these questions because I can’t bear to hear the answers. Maybe when I’m 30.

I look at the picture of my 5 year old niece and wonder would I have understood it a bit better had I been 5 instead of 3? Her level of comprehension is more advanced of course but she looks at me the same way the other two do, as if she’s sure that Auntie Ashley will be around forever.

So I know I looked at my daddy and was absolutely positive that he’d be around forever.

And now I’m starting to wonder what my mama said to me the first time I asked about my daddy after he’d been buried. Did she remind me of whatever talk we had during the days leading up to his funeral? Or did she simply re-explain the situation to me?

How many times did she actually have to explain the ENTIRE situation to me before I got to the point where I understood and stopped asking about him?

Thinking about these questions bring tears to my eyes and even wondering what answers I got to these questions bring them on.

But the last question I must ask myself is, how would I explain this to MY child if I had to?

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