Mourning.

As I have spent the last week crying to myself as a dear, childhood friend of mine has neared death, I have wished to be a kid again. Mourning seems to be so fleeting for the under 12 set. Maybe it is the fact that they are only mourning broken toys and goldfish. Or maybe its the fact that their brains aren't nearly able to fully comprehend the Earthly finality of death. Or just maybe they are so much closer to Heaven (only having recently arrived on the scene), that they have a better perspective and therefore fear death less. I prefer to believe the latter.

My sweet friend succumbed to a brain tumor today after 6 long and fierce years of fighting. I knew it was coming. She knew it was coming. It still came too quickly. There is never enough time to hug and reminisce. To tell them how much you love them. And yesterday, as I felt her death closing in, Cornell's damn hamster died. His beloved hamster. The hamster that lived in his room and was his nightlight against the monsters under his bed and in his closet. The hamster that knew to scuffle around in his cage all night so that Cornell never heard any bumps in the night. Cornell was devastated; Conway couldn't stop crying for 3 hours. He also couldn't stop asking "Why Sparky dead?" and "Why Sparky no coming back?" All between those heart breaking sobs punctuated by him catching his breath in short, hyperventilating gulps.

Against my will, I cried too hard at Sparky's funeral. I cried for Sparky but I said goodbye to Erin. Ankle deep in ice crusted snow, we buried our good, little hamster. Within half an hour of the funeral, Cornell and Conway chatted away about how it was really "good luck" that Sparky had died because "now he could see his mama and papa hamster in Heaven". Such comforting words from my 7 and 3 year olds' private conversation. They seemed to be moving on. Cornell asked if we could get a new hamster this weekend. And could it please be a "half girl, half boy hamster so that it could have babies and grow a mustache?" I laughed for the first time in a week, and I laughed hard. I haven't moved on yet, but I am laughing again. Goodnight, sweet Erin, thank you for being my nightlight.