As we rolled into 2012 I saw relief spill over Oscar’s face as he realized the world was still here. Threats to the end of time are good jokes if you are past the point of no return, but not as funny when you are still growing. Oscar was terrified that we would all vaporize, noticeable only as the clock leaned past midnight and he relaxed into my hug and whispered “See, I told you the world wouldn’t end.” No one tell him about December 21st please.
At the tail end of the holiday Oscar confessed to submitting to the terror of dying and death. I’m the worst person to chat to when it comes to the circle of life. I’m the person who ran out of science class when the teacher drew a diagram of the sun exploding and all life on earth ceasing. I’m the person who stuffed her head in her knapsack to find an eraser breathe when the professor traced the earth’s timeline on the overhead with his finger, noting how insignificant human life was.
Death terrifies me. I refuse to think about it. When my children need comfort, I draw on my theatre experience* to stay myself. I act like a calm and confident mother.
This was a highlight from our trip to Austria. Seeing this full-sized at the Leopold Museum was a definite boon to the business of anxiety. I bought a print to hang in our bathroom in case we forgot we were all going to die.
“I’m just so scared that I will stop being me and be nothing at all,” he said. “Look at everyone who has died. They’re just nothing. I’m going to be nothing. You’re going to be nothing. Abby is going to be nothing.”
The descent into anxiety began and we slid toward shallow breathing and terror together. My family has been halved by old age and nasty illnesses, and I am not at a point in which I can trick myself into believing they are anywhere but dead. They are not in the chickadee that rested on the BB Gun. They are not in the soft aroma of fresh laundry. They aren’t even in my night terrors trying to pull me to the other side for a visit. They are nowhere and nothing and I don’t want to join them. Oscar and I slid deeper, my eyelids shaking with the effort of looking peaceful.
I did an amazing self-arrest and remembered who was in charge.
Smiling serene-ish-ly in a way that was supposed to appear all-knowing and confident, I called on my best imitation of a calm and faith-filled mother. I told him “God always takes care of us, and we are always ourselves,” and then I added for good measure, “And, he always keeps us together with the people we love, forever.” And then I thanked my foresight for buying the best Cute Pig calendar ever and pointed at the centerfold for January and asked if he thought that pig could fit in an actual tea cup. He thought no. I thought yes. 
We measured the pig and debated until our heart rates slowed down and we could both pretend to be fine with the business of life.
