Nesta says hello to snowcat, Susan Michael Barrett, photographer
Maybe Brennan’s response to my question this week, “How do you know your
Dad loves you?” was preparation. I sat on the rocking chair in the backyard at
Starr’s House while Brennyn skipped a circle, hopped over a rock, smiled
broadly and replied, “Because he died and now he’s in my heart."
I stood up and walked over to Starr and asked, “Did Brennyn’s Dad die?”
“Yes,” she said. I didn’t know. I asked the question with curiosity about how a child feels a parent's love.
Brennyn’s response reminds me of the day Carly, a class gerbil, died.
Team teacher at Dublin Montessori Academy, Sue Metzger, found her when we
arrived for class and had placed a polka-dot-patterned doll blanket the size of my hand over
her body. Carly looked like she was tucked in for sleep.
We told the children what happened and that we will take time
to say goodbye to Carly. We invited them to gather around her house. Carly’s
face peeked out from the cover. The children took turns looking at her.
“Carly, you were a nice pet.”
“Tell God hello.”
“I liked watching you exercise.”
Then Tomas threw up. One of us helped Tomas. The other children simply
accepted this and continued.
“I thought you were hamster Carly.”
“I’ll always love you.”
“Now you’re in our heart, Carly,” said Maxwell.
My kittycat Nesta passed peacefully today. I know what Brennan and
Maxwell mean when they say we carry those we love in our heart. I feel that
about my son who died 6 years ago, and since that experience, understand better
that I carry all the love I have for others with me, whether they are here physically or
not. This is the ultimate gift. Real love. What I truly own is love.
