A Loss of Innocence

Hello Readers! I just wanted to give you a little warning before you dive into this story. First off it is a nonfiction story that talks about death. This story is written about handling death and talking about it with a small child. There is nothing in here that goes into detail about how the person dies. But incase some readers have experience death recently, I just wanted to make you aware. Thanks for reading!

Holding the steaming cup of tea in my hand, I inhaled the fragrant tea leaves. The scent brought me back to that day twenty-three years ago. The day that changed the world for my little girl. To this day, the thoughts of her having to deal with those lessons in life early on bring tears to my eyes. Yet as I sat here thinking about how life seems to repeat itself seems like a cruel reminder.

When I was two-years-old, I lost my grandmother. I have no memory of this, just old photos of her beautiful face over the changing years. I can’t recall one conversation, one memory, or one hug. But I can recall and relive some moments through the old photos. Her blue eyes gently looking down at my tiny newborn face. Her smile lighting up the photo as my chubby baby face smiled back at her. But most of all, I cherish the cards with her handwriting celebrating of my birth.

So when the day came when I needed to help my two-year-old through a loss, I was unprepared. The memory of that day never faded. Corinne, a bright, happy, and rambunctious little girl. Would spend many hours with her Great-Grandfather. She would visit him in the nursing home, sit with him outside on good days, or go on outings during the holidays. She loved her Papa John. Furthermore, she often spoke of him in her jubilant toddler voice. Of his ‘colorings’ on his arms and what he ate during the day, and how he missed his little dog.

But on that day so long ago, Corinne and I had a different place to go see Papa John. She was so full of life sitting in her car seat in the back. Smiling and showing off her dimples, or as she called them ‘angel kisses’. Her beautiful face held no trace of sorrow or knowing of the day's trip would bring.

“Green Mommy, GO!” She shouted from the back seat. It was her favorite thing to do now, since she had learned the colors for the traffic lights. I laughed a little and turned into the lane. This was not going to be easy. I had no idea how to handle this. Nonetheless, today was going to happen, and I needed to be here for my daughter. I pulled into the parking space closest to the door and took a beat to get my thoughts together. I turned to face my smiling Corinne. Her innocent face showing no signs of understanding about what was different about today.

“Ren Bear, we need to be quiet when we go in here. This is like a church.” I said to her, hoping she understood. I reached out to push some of her hair away from her face as she swung her legs back and forth in her seat. As always, her smile lit up her face, showing she really had no idea of what lesson she was about to learn. She was usually pretty good in church until children’s time. Then I found myself with my face buried in my hands, while others chuckled. Corinne often liked to joke around, and because she is still two, her speech was not fully there. So sometimes, it was enough that I would turn beat red and wish to sink straight into my seat while others laughed it off.

We made our way into the building and to the reception's desk.

“Hello, may I help you? The small lady asked me.

“Yes, I am here to see John Anzio.” I said with a slight catch in my voice.

“Papa John!” Corinne chimed in happily.

“Are you family or Friend?” She asked slightly annoyed while narrowing her eyes at my daughter.

“Family.” I answered bluntly back. The woman was not old, but I thought she should have more empathy during these situations.

“Follow me” she replied. As she came around the desk. She continued down a long hall with doors that led off on the right side. It wasn’t until we came to the last door that we stopped. She gestured to it and left us. I looked at the door for a second and then turned to face my daughter. I knelt down, so I was face to face with her.

“Hey Ren, do you know who we are going to see?” I asked her, trying to keep my voice steady.

“We going to see Papa John.” She answered in her toddler voice.

“Yes, that’s right. But first, let me tell you…” I went to respond.

“Papa John sick, he need go Doctor.” She interrupted me. I smiled at her connection she made from the conversations over the past few days. It was a lot to take in for an adult, let alone for a child. I tried to shield her away as much as possible.

“Yes, sweetheart, Papa John was very sick, but God came down from Heaven to take Papa John home with him.” I paused and stared into her bright blue eyes, looking for some kind of recognition there. That my toddler could understand what was happening here. I only found the happy little girl who was ready to visit her Papa John. The bright, happy little girl that the world had not tainted with its cruel and harsh lessons. “Do you understand, Rennie?”

“Yeah, Mommy, we go see Papa John?” She asked. Undeterred by my conversation. I wanted to help her understand before we went into the viewing so she would not be let down, but I wanted to shield her as well. To be a mother, try to shield a child but at the same time have to deliver the news is one of life’s cruelest oxymorons. I don’t think anyone in these positions ever come out unscathed. You just do your best and hope for the best, and in time the scares fade a little, but never go away.

We walked into the entry room, where others had already gathered from the family. Not too many had shown up yet, but the ones who were there, were talking in hushed tones and sitting on the plush couches or standing near a poster board. Corinne and I made our way to the poster board. It was filled with photographs of her beloved Papa John. She reached out and squealed his name. Some photos were in black and white from his younger days and showing him in the war. Others were in color, and few had her in them. She loved those the most. We must have stood there for a good five minutes looking over the photos of her Papa John in different stages of life before she asked to see her Papa John.

As we made our way to the back room, the first thing we saw was the shiny black casket. The sleek black casket was halfway open and propped up on a stand, tall enough that I needed to pick Corinne up before she could see him. The back room was oddly silent, and free from family, besides myself and my daughter. Looking back on it now, it was a blessing in disguise. It gave me time to help Corinne understand death. As I lifted Corinne up to see her Papa John…

“Papa John! Hi!” Corinne giggled and reached out towards the peaceful great-grandfather lying in his eternal bed. She waited for him to respond, as he always had before. With his arms outstretched, waiting for her short arms to encircle his neck in a warm embrace and a peck on the cheek. She pulled back into my shoulder, her slump body seemingly trying to get further away. She appeared to start understanding a little more.

“Papa John?” She questioned a little whisper. To see if he would answer back. I gave a ‘ssshhh’ with an ’it’s ok’.

“Papa John got sick.” Corinne half asked, half saying out-loud as if to remind herself of what is going on.

“Yes, honey, Papa John was sick. He went home to Heaven. Now he is your Guardian Angle.” I whispered back to her, trying to hold back tears. Corinne buried her little face deeper into my shoulder, as if to shrink back from this part of the world. I wanted to take this sadness away from her.

As I went to leave the room, Corinne sat up on my hip.

“Wait, can I kiss him goodbye?” She asked me. I went back to Papa John, and she leaned into the coffin. She kissed him on the forehead and whispered;

“Goodbye Papa John.”

Then she leaned back into me. We both walked back into the receiving room with silent tears rolling down our faces.

That day, even twenty-three years later, still haunts me. I have, had to help all my daughters through the loss of family members and each time it never gets easier. There is never a more raw emotion like losing someone you love with all your heart.