A Kindergartner's Loss

It probably won't surprise those who know me that I don't think about death very often.
Even after my initial diagnosis of breast cancer, I don't remember thinking about it much.

With chemo finished and radiation scheduled for later this month,
I spent a chunk of today making doctors' appointments: hematologist; plastic surgeon; medical oncologist; and CAT Scan.
I ran errands and pondered what I'd cook for dinner before tonight's band concert.

My cell rang.
It was not a call that I expected.

Sadly, one of Noah's classmates, a fellow kindergartner, lost her father to cancer last Friday.
I did not know the girl's father, but because of the disease,
I felt an immediate, albeit posthumous bond with him.
The class was informed as a way of preparing for the the little girl's return to school.
The reason I was called is because, without intending to, the counselor had upset Noah with the words "died" and "cancer".

Tears collected in my eyes as I ached for two children:
one whose dad was gone; and
and the other who probably wondered about his own mother's future.
My distress only grew when I learned that my older son's class would get the same news tomorrow.
The kindergartner's sister is a friend of Cameron's.

How do you explain to your children that people die from this disease without having them worry whether you will die too?

Noah and I prayed together tonight.
He prayed for his classmate's dad.
I prayed for the family.
When we finished praying, Noah wanted to know whether his classmate would get a new dad.
I told him that I didn't know, but even if she did, it wouldn't be the same.
Noah said, "Yeah, that's because God makes the dads special."
"And the moms too," he added.