I haven’t responded to a Daily Prompt in over a month, but I thought this one: Finite Creatures: At what age did you realize you weren’t immortal? was thought-provoking.
As a small child, between the ages of three and five, my family and I lived in a series of rental homes. Dad hadn’t yet been elevated to the position of Piggly Wiggly manager, and Mom was a stay-at-home parent, as far as I can recall. At any rate, she was at home the day I came running in the front door crying my eyes out.
“Mommy! I’m going to die!”
“No you aren’t sweetheart!” she said, hugging me.
“Yes, I am _________________ said I was going to die and Mr. Bugs is going to die and you and Daddy are going to die.” I hiccuped between sobs.
I remember Mom sighing. I know now that sigh meant, “That little brat _______________! Now I have to explain death to my baby.”
My mother was very good at explaining tough things, much better than I ever was. She sat and cradled me in her lap and said that _________________ was right, that everyone dies.
“Even dogs?” I whispered, hoping Mr. Bugs was immune.
“Yes, but Mr. Bugs is a puppy,” she said. “He’s going to live a long time. And you’re just a little girl. You’re going to live a long time, too.”
Of course then I had a bunch of little girl questions:
“Does it hurt to die?”
“What happens when we die?”
“Why do people and dogs die?”
“Will you and Daddy die?”
Mom answered my questions that day as best she could and for many days after. I became obsessed with death.
I believe this is why I never had that feeling of immortality that most kids and teenagers experience. I never was a daredevil, never a rebel. Caution was my middle name. Death my dread.
We were Christians and the promise of eternal life was always there, but I sure didn’t want to lose this one. I remember vividly _____________________ sitting in his swing, calmly informing me I was going to die. I don’t remember his name, but I’m blaming him for dampening my youthful exuberance.
Stupidhead bunnyfart ___________________!

I was like you – always scared to death of death.
LikeLiked by 1 person
And now, I’m pretty ok with the thought! I’d prefer not to go tomorrow, but I’m ok.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your mother did a good job – I would never go and ask my Mom questions.
LikeLike