Operator

I was sitting in the car after picking my kids up from their music class, and I burst into tears listening to Jim Croce. Something about the blend of schmaltz and folky clear-sightedness sent me over an edge. We have had a death in my family, which is hard enough when you’re a person in a family, but somehow harder and stranger when you’re navigating grief for children. I am balancing between a desire to be open, clear, transparent, and a sense that enmeshed life is hard enough without encouraging small children to be clear-sighted.

They have already impressed me with their human responses to illness. One sang a song, another sat nearby and cuddled the dog. My stepchild has navigated the loss with poise and a gracious sensitivity that feels so beyond her years. But then light traffic and Jim Croce?