The Depth of a Child

So often lately, I have focused a majority of my writing on Nyssa and Nathaniel.   Today, however, my heart ponders on the wonderment of the understanding of my youngest.  Not quite 2  1/2, Gabriela never ceases to amaze me with her words, her thoughts and expressions, but I think I am still in shock over her countenance and her words last Friday.

It was the day we saw my father for the last time.  Family was gathered at the funeral home.  Young ones met each other for the first time, while my generation of cousins hugged and caught up on old times, reminiscing together.  Gabriela, bringing Richard and I in tow, walked up to the open coffin.

"Is Pops in there?" she queried.
"Yes, he is," I said.
"I want to see him," she told Richard as she lifted her arms for him to pick her up.  Gabriela looked at the body of the man who she had hugged but who had never spoken a word to her.
"That's Pop," she stated simply, rather than questioned.  We both nodded in assent.
"Is he sleeping?" she wondered.
"This is just his body," Richard said gently to our daughter.  "Pops is in Heaven."

She cocked her head in the most peculiar way.  I can't explain it, but she squinted her eyes.  They glazed over as she looked off, contemplating his comment, and pieced it together with the sight of her grandfather in the dark red walnut casket.  I sat there and physically watched Gabriela age right before my eyes.  When she spoke, it was simple, with puzzlement, yet understanding and clarity.

"He's dead."  It was as if even she was amazed at her own ability to grasp the concept.  My eyes watered.
"Yes."
"He's gone.  He's not there."  Again, I wondered at her comprehension.  She sighed and just stared for a  moment and then asked to be let down.  That was it.

The funeral service was nice, more like a celebration of Dad's life.  I think he would've liked it.  We all laughed at the hilarious moments and welled up at the sentimental ones; Gabriela was asleep before my brother even delivered the eulogy, but she had already said her goodbyes that day in the nursing home.

There are moments in our lives which are pointed, signs of growth and maturity.  For my Gabriela, this was one of those.   A single moment in time passed right before my eyes. My baby girl was no longer a baby, or a toddler even.  She was past the days of just going with the flow, reaching whatever conclusion someone else gave her.   This was her moment, and she grasped it.