Me Thinks My Memory Doth Protest The Exact Right Amount (And I Feel Fine)

The following took place on the way to school on Monday, the day my daughter turned four.

“You’re my best friend, Daddy!”

(Note: This is a very, very common kid expression. It just means “I like you.”)

“Thanks, Alice. I’m so happy to have you in my life. I’m so proud of you. I’m so happy I get to live with you, and see you age, and grow! You fill my life with so much joy.”

“I never want you to die, Daddy!” she replies, with an ear-to-ear grin.

“That’s so nice, honey. But I will die. All of us die.”

“Why do we die?” She asks, leaning forward in her forward-facing seat.

“That’s the funny part. No one knows why we die, but all of us die. But I do think knowing that we die is the main reason life feels magical. I don’t know. I just know that I love life, and always have. Even when I’m sad, I always want to live. I’ve always wanted to live a very, very long time. So you can plan on me being around, OK?”

“Why are you going to die then?”

“I told you: I have to. We all have to. I’m going to die, you’re going to die, all of us are going to die, and that’s why it can’t be bad. It can’t be bad if it happens to everyone.”

“I want to die with you then,” she squeals with delight.

“Well, that’s possible, but I sure hope it doesn’t happen that way.”

“Why not, Daddy?”

“Because each of us should get to live as long as we want to. So, since I came here way before you, it would feel unfair to have you live a shorter life, just because you don’t want me to be gone. Trust me. My Papa is the person who got me to see this.”

“Your dad?”

“No,” I replied with a guilty laugh. “Don’t misunderstand me. I love my dad. Very much. And he loved me and inspired me my whole life. But it was my Papa, my grandpa, who showed me how living a very long life can be fun. So I decided, all the way back then, when I was your age, that my goal would be to live to be at least 100.”

“Why did you love Papa so much?”

I’m now crying; I’m unabashedly allowing lumpy tears to plunk and trickle, not even trying to hide the quiver of gratitude, nostalgia, and love in my throaty, emotional voice as I elaborate. “I loved him because he loved me, for who I was—and who I was becoming—and he encouraged me to do whatever I wanted in life, but he also always told me how much he loved me. I truly felt his love and his support in a way I can’t even explain to myself, but I know that I try my best to always treat you and your brother and sister with the same love, the same approach, the same energy.”

“I love you so much, Daddy!”

“I love you too, Alice. So, so much. Real, real, super true, blue Elsa magical real love times infinity no backsies.” (If you have kids this might translate, and if you don’t, just know that this is a perk of parenting you can’t really explain to prospective buyers.)

“When you die can I have your car?”

“OK, Alice,” I say, laughing and dabbing my eyes. “We’re at school. Please don’t talk to your teachers about dying again, OK? It’s your birthday. Talk about living instead.”

Four minutes later, I hand her off to her two 22-year-old Pre-K teachers, and one of them smiles and says, “Well, at least it’s her birthday so she won’t be asking me what she can have from me when I die, right? Where does she get that from anyway?”

“I have no clue,” I lie. “But it sure is weird, isn’t it? Kids are so weird!”

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This week on Coffin Talk we interview Karla Rodriguez, a Neuro-Linguistic Programming (NLP) trainer who explores personal growth, mindset, and creativity with her clients. She is also a proud mom who balances entrepreneurship with family life, while working on finding ways to inspire and connect. Listen here!