Carrie: Upstairs, I think.
As if sensing the uncertainty in her response, a loud, crashing noise comes from the bedroom above our heads.
Me (hustling to the staircase): Amari?
Amari (nonchalantly walking down the stairs): Coming.
Me: What was that loud noise?
Amari: I don't know. It was me.
Me: Well, what were you doing.
Amari (without hesitating): I was making a loud noise.
Later on, at the dinner table and for seemingly no apparent reason Amari says, "Annie's dead." It was true, Granny had rough dog year in 2011, losing Tigger, Mr. Steed, and finally Annie, who is buried in our garden beneath a bed of poppies. Amari was at the funeral where Carrie introduced her to the concept of death by telling her that Annie was going to "outer space." As you'll see from the end of this conversation, I think she missed that part.
Amari repeats, "Annie died."
Carrie and I look puzzled. "Yep" we say together.
"Why did she die?" Amari asked.
I'll take this one, I thought, and say, "Well, she got old. And when you live a long time, you get old and die."
Amari ponders that for a moment while I silently congratulate myself for nailing a hard question until Amari blurts, "I want to get old and die so I can go in the dirt and cuddle Annie."
Carrie and I both had holy shit faces before we started giggling a bit. "Take your time, Amari. Take your time."
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