Lying in bed with the kids after story time, and Atticus casually says:
“Daddy, will I be forgotten?”
It hit me like a hammer blow to the gut. I try to comprehend how my little 6 year old boy could harbor such a worry in his heart.
It’s was strange to have the back and forth that followed, and somewhat full of love and grace.
Prior to his question, earlier today, he came to hear Lissette and I talking about the little boy that was killed in Barcelona, in last week’s terror attack.
“Daddy, will I be forgotten?”
“Absolutely, not, Atty, that’s why we named you Atticus. And your sister Lenore, and your brother Paul. You will have children and grandchildren, and you will never be forgotten.”
Heavy lifting on a Sunday Night. More hugs, more cuddles, more kisses.
If you know me, then you know how deeply I reflect on mortality. I just never thought it would be something that my 6 year old child would worry about.
The kids surprise me everyday.
