Lexi is having such a hard time wrapping her little mind around death.
Last week, after I'd hacked away a few branches of a scraggly tree with a machete,
so I could more easily dig sweet Dallas' grave back by the bushes he loved to explore,
she stood there with her lip quivering.
"How many lives do dogs get?" she asked, trying not to cry. again.
"Only one, Baby. Only one." I told her sadly.
She's asked the question about twenty times since then.
The question, and the answer, are always the same.
But now, she's moving on to people.
"A doctor could help a person if they die, right?"
"No, Sweetie. If somebody dies, only God can help them."
She asks again, emphasizing the word 'doctor', thinking I must have misunderstood.
The answer doesn't change.
"But what if they get shot?
A doctor could help them then, right?"
"Yes, if the bullet didn't kill them, a doctor could help."
"People live longer lives than dogs, don't they? People don't die when they are just little."
And I have to tell her that, yes, little people die too, sometimes.
"But I won't, right?"
And all I can tell her is, "I hope not!"