First Time

     There is nothing sadder than watching the eyes of a child trying to process the concept of death for the very first time.
     First, they get out of the car, excited about being redirected from the usual bus stop down the block from home.
     Second, you look them dead in the face as others frantically run past you to comfort the mourners.
     Third, you spill out the news that Pops died.
     4)  Your nine year old son looks at you and asks if you're pranking him.
     5)  You walk the kids into the house where the furniture is being maneuvered out the front door and cushions are placed on the floor where the breakfront with all the family photos usually is.
     6)  You see his eyes change from half-moon smiles to raised eyebrows of concern.

   It is here that the music from the ice cream truck comes echoing off every corner of the house.  A sigh of relief escapes me as my AD-Daughter starts ping-ponging herself up and down pleading for an ice cream fix. I look to my father, the remaining grandpa,who takes the cue and walks them away from loss and eternity to King Cones and Screwballs.
     Joe doesn't think the kids get it.  Joycee comes barreling in to me with a Snow Cone.  Alan walked in with a vanilla cone.  Each lick becoming more of a struggle.  To me there was no question-he got it.
     "Where is he?"
     "Hatzalah took him away.  They're going to bury him tomorrow."  I answered.
     "Where's grandma?"  He says sticking a free hand in his pants pocket.  "I want to see her."
     I lead him into the back den, where my mother in law is perched on a brown leather ottoman.  Her sad eyes still sparkle when she sees him.
     "Hold my cone."  Alan says, his voice begins to crack.
      Slow and shy, he makes his way towards her.  Her embrace separates him from the rest of the visitors.  She whispers something to him and he makes his way back towards me.
      "I want to go now."  He says ripping the cone from my hand.
     He walked to the car with a mission. Slammed the door and began to cry.
     7)  He asks how old Pops was.
     8)  They both ask how old you and your spouse are.
     It has been almost two weeks and the crying seems to get worse each night. There is nothing I can say or do to console him.  "I know he's with Hashem, he doesn't have cancer anymore...but I miss him.  I only knew him for nine years!!!  Mommy, this is my first.  You know a lot more people that died, but Pops is my first!!!"  His mind working triple speed after dark.  There is nothing I can do to console my man-child.
     As he cries aloud my heart breaks in a whisper. 

     I don't know if it's because he's a child,
 
     or for the first time, I see I can not shield him from understanding like an adult.