On May 21, 1981, I was born to very proud first-time parents.  My mom couldn’t put me down that first night, even to sleep.  In the morning, the woman who shared her hospital room asked incredulously, “Did you hold that baby all night long?!”.  She had just delivered her sixth baby and thought that my mom was crazy not to take advantage of putting me in the nursery overnight.

Fast forward 35 years and now I know that kind of love – the kind where I don’t want to miss a thing – like conversations about birth & death with my 3 1/2-year-old.  In honor of my birthday, I’m recording one such recent conversation.

Yesterday Mattie asked me, “Where was I  before I was born?”.  (He has also asked specifically where he was when I was a little girl, or on our wedding day, or when his great-great grandparents were alive.)

I answered him, as best I could, with my practical and philosophical thoughts on the matter.  A follow-up question came shortly after:

“Where will I go after I die?”

I was struck by how similar my response was to this and to his question about where he was before he was born.

“Maybe we are in the stars?”, I suggested.

“Or maybe we return in the form of another being?”

“Or maybe our spirit lingers close to those we love, traveling with them everywhere they go?”

“Yeah”, Mattie said, “it’s kinda like magic”.

“Yeah”, I said, “It’s a lot like that.”

Then he continued his inquiry, wanting to know the names of people and animals I know who have died.  I listed a few, and when I mentioned his great-great grandpa Matthew he said, “What?!  Did I die?!? That’s my name!”

I reassured him that it was someone else named Matthew who died, but that we passed that name onto him because he was a very special person in our family.

Then he asked, “Did he come back to life as me?”

To which I responded, “Well, I think something about his spirit may have came back through you, but I don’t think you’re the same person.  We really don’t know what happens to our spirit after we die though.  It’s a mystery.”

His line of questioning continued, as he pressed me to find out what happens to our physical body after death.

“Does it become meat?”

“Will my bones be in a museum like a dinosaur?”

I described how bodies decompose and that we often bury them so that our bodies can return to the earth.  Then he became concerned about the idea of being buried & needed reassuring that it wouldn’t happen to him until AFTER he died.

Which led to, “But WHEN am I going to die?”

“And WHEN are you going to die, momma?”

He’s been asking both of these questions a lot lately & I respond as honestly as I can.  I say that we really don’t know, but that we hope it’s not for a long, long, LONG time.

For a child that relates to the world primarily through concrete concepts, pondering the mystery of birth & death is no easy feat.  It’s not easy for grown-ups either.

Where was I before I was born?  What is this life a continuation of?

Energy.  Love.  Form.  Formlessness.

Bursting forth & dying back.

My birthday marks a continuation of this life and whatever came before it.  I no longer expect a miracle akin to my birth to occur on this day.  But it’s not easy to let go of all expectation, to hope for some kind of magic.

I do see magic all around me today  – in the warm sun on my skin, the single purple iris blooming today in my flower garden, in the love I feel from my family, friends, and even the occasional stranger.

There is magic in the decadent chocolate cake with raspberry sauce made late at night by my dear husband, even though it didn’t turn out quite as he’d hoped.

There is magic in the hand drawn family portrait and the necklace made from rainbow-colored plastic beads made by the tiny hands of a boy who loves me to the moon and back (and tells me that every day).

There is magic in sharing the exploration of birth and death and the meaning of life with my son.

There is magic in being present, in showing up for each and every moment, and leaning into the mystery for all it’s worth.