"Mummy?" said my son out of nowhere last night as we sat down to dinner. "What does it feel like being dead?"
"[My son], I'll be totally honest with you, I don't know, I've never died."
My son laughs.
"What do you think it feels like?"
I tell him what my dad told me, that it's like sleep.
"How do you feel when you're sleeping?" I ask
"I don't like it because I can never get to sleep."
"After that, how does it feel after that when you've got to sleep and you haven't woken up yet?"
"I don't know. Nothing."
"There we go. It's like that. Nothing. No time, no dreams or nightmares, just nothing. Deep sleep, nothing to remember!"
"Maybe he's wrong, maybe you get to watch old movies! Maybe you get to listen to songs like "have a bad day, have a bad day!" and he starts singing.
I laugh as he catches me off guard. How does he remember that???? The one day, the one day, I played Daniel Powter's song on constant repeat, I had just signed over our lives to the council's Homeless Person's Unit.
He was two years old.
He was still two years old when we moved in here but the cd single didn't move with us because it got lost, bizarrely.
He interrupts my thought: "Why do we always have ham?"
"Because you like it!" (we were eating quiche lorraine, with carrots and brocolli)
And that was our conversation about death. Nothing too tricky this time!
(I thank Angelsandurchins for this post, for she told me in a comment that she might pop in again to see if I write about this theme that rosie scribble started.
I told her it was unlikely I would return to it.
I don't ordinarily write about conversations with my boy.
Maybe I should post about him more often.
I feel lighter already.
I've run out of tobacco though so bye for now blogspot. There's a danger I'd stay here all day chatting to you, driving myself to distraction, and there's alot of work around the house to be done....)