Isabel

It was family traditions reporting day at school.  One of Alana’s first Spanish presentations, I was eager to hear how it went.

“Did any of your friends have cool traditions? How about Eli? And Everly? What about Isabel?

It was at ‘Isabel’ that Alana remarked she “actually has *two* friends name Isabel...”

I added the fun fact that my grandmother’s name was Isabel, too.  Wasting no time, Alana inquired: “Is she still alive?”

Slowly, and with an air of reminiscence, I replied “No sweetheart, she isn’t alive any more…”

To which she immediately left out an audible sigh of relief, adding “oh, that’s good! That would be too many Isabels for me to remember”.

I smiled.  I love how young kids think. And since Sayler has hit the age of dread over her, or her family, dying, I take solace in knowing it’s no big deal for Alana, at least.  That phase of realization that we’re all mere mortals has not yet crept up and I am so grateful for how singularly-minded Alana is. 

In fact, I was exactly her age, 5, when my grandmother, Isabel, died and I don’t remember a profound lasting effect. Rather, I distinctly remember it was the first time I’d ever seen my dad cry. Sitting in the front pew, well ahead of me, lined up one by one next to his 6 brothers.  And that is the thing I remember that was sad. 

Life crept on. And it’s been a phenomenal life. And that’s the best way to allow the departed to rest easy- those they’ve left behind are living their best, brightest, most adventurous and love-fueled lives (and maybe not inundating their families and friends with one too many of the same name to remember….)