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My nephew and niece, Lane and Emma, stayed the night with us a few weekends ago.
The next morning, the three of us were out to visit the Halloween store and to go to some friends’ house to decorate pumpkins.
They ask me such adorably precocious questions sometimes when it’s just us. I never know what they might think of, ask or say.
For instance, when we pulled up to my friends’ house, Emma said, “Well, this is a pretty good-looking house.”
She’s 9, going on 10.
While we were in the car that Saturday morning, one of them — I don’t actually remember which one — asked me one of those surprising questions.
“What was the best day of your life?”
Who is the interviewer here? I thought to myself with amusement.
“Oh, well, the day I married your Uncle Matt,” I said.
“What was the second-best day of your life?”
It was starting to sound a lot like one of those precocious conversations I had with my parents growing up.
“Probably the days you guys were born,” I said.
Third-best day?
“The day I was born,” I said, which they thought was funny.
After a little silence — I could practically hear the gears turning — Emma asked: “What was your worst day?”
I had to take a moment. I knew this question was coming, and I knew the answer, too. I felt they probably already knew the answer as well, but they wanted to hear it.
I steadied my voice as much as I could. I was driving, after all, and I didn’t want to upset them.
“The day Gee died,” I finally said.
The next silence may have been the most expressive silence I’ve ever experienced, or maybe I’m just projecting onto them. After a little while, a small, sweet voice said, “Mine, too.” That’s my Little Ems.
They couldn’t remember how Gee, my mom, and how Gammaw, Cynda’s mom, died.
“Gee’s lungs weren’t strong,” I said. “It wasn’t her fault — there was nothing that could be done. It was a disease.”
This helped them remember how Gammaw had died, that she had passed peacefully in her sleep, with her sweet dog beside her. Then they discussed how that dog recently died, too.
The topic was certainly sad, but being resilient little kids, they looked on the brighter side.
“I don’t think I’ve had my happiest day yet,” Emma said.
“You will,” I told her, “on your wedding day.”
“My happiest day was when I hit that grand slam,” Lane said.
Those two. They keep us going.

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