Dear Eight-Year-Old Currier,

I’m having a difficult time seeing you turn eight.  My mother died when I was eight so I think maybe I’m struggling because I’m forced to look at you through my mother’s eyes and I can only imagine the terror she must of felt knowing she wouldn't watch her eight-year-old grow up?  Although you’re so grown up in some ways there are so many ways about you that are so sweet and innocent.  I just can’t bear the thought of ever leaving you. 

You’re very bright but you’re also very gullible.  There’s a scene in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation were Clark and his family are sitting at the table for Christmas Eve dinner and Clark announces “ Hey, Kids, I heard on the news that an airline pilot spotted Santa's sleigh on its way in from New York City.” And Cousin Eddie asks, “You serious, Clark?”  I've nicknamed you “Cousin Eddie” because at least once a day you ask, “You serious, Mom?” to one of my many ridiculous lies wonderfully, imaginative stories.  I love that about you! 

You lost your best friend last month.  Bruco got very sick very fast and was gone within a week.  You spent every moment you could beside him right up until he died.  I felt unsure about having you and Rya there while the vet ended Bruco’s suffering but once we were all in the room and in the moment, I knew it was exactly the right thing to do.  We all had our hands on Bruco’s frail chest when he took his last breath.  There is no better way to leave this earth than to be surrounded by the people who love you.  I wanted to protect you from the pain of loss but the truth is death is a part of life and it’s inevitable.  I hope the experience of losing Bruco taught you that even death can be incredibly beautiful if you just stop and pay attention to it.     

You’re finishing up your last year at Laurel Hill Primary School and moving on to Pinckney Elementary School next year.  You didn't enjoy the second grade as much as you did Kindergarten and the first grade.  You begged to stay home from school a lot this year by faking sick.  Sometimes I caved and let you stay home but most days I forced you to face your fear—the bullies, the tests and the bus ride.  Currier, I hate to say this but bullies, tests and bus rides will always suck but the older you get the less you care about that nonsense. 

 

I’m not going to leave you, Currier.  My job is not done.  There are millions of fantastic stories albeit straight up lies to feed you.  There are more sad losses in your life that you’ll need me for an inappropriate laugh.  And there will be many more years of school that I will try my hardest to help you overcome and when it’s all over I’ll buy you a beer and we’ll laugh and laugh and laugh and look back at the time you were eight-years-old and how simple and innocent and sweet this time was and we'll laugh some more.  

All my love,

Mama