It’s early in the morning, and my must-eat-as-soon-as-we-wake daughters are sitting at the breakfast table when my just turned four years old G-Girl springs a rather odd question on me…
“I am a meat person. I am made of meat and bones!” she randomly spouts out.
To which I reply.. “Um.. mm..hmm….?” (Yes, my parenting skills are fantastic first thing in the morning.)
“When I die, there will just be meat left behind…”
Breakfast – not normally when I expect
Oh geesh, where is this heading? “Er.. yes?”
“So when I die and there is just meat left, who will eat me?”
Come again? “Pardon?”
“Who will eat my meat body when I’m not in it any more?”
It is not quite seven in the morning, and I am half-asleep, I am not prepared to deal with this sort of thing.
“No one will eat you. It’s um… considered rude for people to eat other people. Humans don’t eat each other.”
“Oh. So will a bear eat me? or a tiger?”
“No sweetie, no one is going to let animals eat your body.”
“But what will happen to my meat and bone body when I don’t need it any more?”
I quickly gloss over the idea of burial, or cremation, trying to make it sound non-frightening.
There is a deep frown on my girls face. Oh, oh, maybe the burial thing was too much for her…
Then she pops out with, “I don’t want my body to be wasted.”
So I go on to emphasis how once you’re buried in the ground you become food for the grass and the trees. She likes that and brightens right up.
Everyone goes back to munching on their breakfast and there is peace and quiet for a moment.
Then my girls asks, “Mom, all those years before I was a baby in your tummy, where was I?”
Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Mommy needs a coffee.