Death and Compost

It all started with a fairly innocent trip to the Insectarium in New Orleans on our recent trip to the US. My girls aren't 'afraid' of 'bugs' and really seem to understand the need to protect spiders. So I didn't think that this trip was incompatible with their interests and never thought it could be the source of anxiety.

Indeed, they mostly found many things to be interested in, and were fascinated by many of the interesting and compelling exhibits proposed by the Insectarium.

One exhibit, has the visitors go through a dark room and visit small presentations showing how things work underground, what worms are for, etc. Towards the end of this exhibit is a short (less than a minute) film showing a dead mouse and how s/he is 'managed' by various insects and worms to, ultimately, decompose and the film ends showing grass growing in its place.

Abigail was mesmerized. She silently watched the film at least four times and we encouraged her to move on. She was having none of it. The questions blurted out, 'How did that mouse die?', 'Why did the bugs do that?', 'What happens when we die?', and on and on, so fast we couldn't even respond, and it ended with the mournful, 'I don't want to die and become compost!'

Of course you don't.

Well, it opened up a large number of questions about death, about what happens after death, how all animals, humans, insects... all living beings die, and, well, turn to compost. The question has revisited us from time to time, and aside from commenting that she doesn't want to die, Abigail mentions that she doesn't want me, her father, her sisters or any other number of loved ones to die, either.

What is particularly moving about her questions is that Abigail really seems to 'get' the finality of death. Most children are interested in the phenomenon, but she is clear on the concept that people don't come back. A previous post dealt with the death of our beloved dog, Zoe. Abigail realized that Zoe was gone and not coming back, but until seeing this short film, I doubt that it occurred to her what death meant. Now she has a more keen sense.

And as we, her parents and older sister, listen to her question the need to die, express the desire not to die, we are unable to comfort her. We can't tell her it won't happen. We do mention that it shouldn't happen for a long time, but this scale of time is as yet too abstract a concept for her. Most importantly, Abigail seems to more keenly feel the reality than the rest of us. It can be seen in her eyes, why is she so upset and why aren't we as freaked out as her... indeed, why not?

I guess, and this she wouldn't understand yet, if we spend our time freaking out about death, it is going to be pretty hard to enjoy living. At least Abigail has the limited attention of all five year-olds: she doesn't dwell on this and seems to forget the whole thing for long periods of time. I have no doubt, though, that this will be a subject of questions and conversation for a long, long time.

Rats!

Why do rats have tails?
Abigail asked her sister, Emily, this while they were playing with Emily's rats, Lily and Rose.
Ever the budding pedagogue, Emily answered, 'Well, Abigail' (this is usually how Emily starts), 'Rats need tails to help them keep their balance. They use their tails to sense their place in space.'
Emily was so happy about being asked a question by her sister she immediately reported it to this blogger, who promised to file the report ASAP.

Mr. Potato Man

Abigail cogently noted tonight that her Mr. Potato Man (who has enough attachments to be Mrs. Potato woman if we want... or a curious mix of the two...) has only three fingers and a thumb. Carefully concentrating on numbers these days and not letting a detail pass her by, Abigail asked me why.
Now, I don't know why I even try to answer some of these questions. I mean, I should know better. Abigail is usually one step ahead of me. But I just couldn't resist.
"He has only three fingers and one thumb because he is a toy, honey," I answered.
"But Barbie has four fingers and a thumb and she is a toy, too," was the immediate and articulate response.
You got me there kid.
He's pretend, OK Abigail? He is pretend... geez. It is really complicated... I don't know why Mr. Potato Head has only three fingers and a thumb... maybe someone does.
I really thought she would be at least ten before she stumped me to this extent.
Sigh.