Life Is Like A Waterfall

Life Is Like A Waterfall

Allow me for a moment to describe my children.  I recognize it is an exercise in maternal pride and boasting, but it does serve more than that purpose in this scenario.
Dermot is about to turn nine and he is joy personified.  As soon as he was able to smile, his face would break open so wide that his eyes would become half moon slivers that beamed happiness and enthusiasm.  That hasn't changed.  He is all passion and energy and is a jack of all trades in the sports arena, naturally balanced and coordinated.  His sense of humor is honest and refreshing and his antics are innocently mischievous.  He is my favorite laughing partner.  He makes friends so easily it makes us shake our heads in awe.  His capacity to charm in the social realm is at the PHD level.  Going anywhere with him is like walking beside him onto the set of "Cheers" and seeing everyone turn from the bar and say, "Hey Derm!"  The flip side to his passion is his passion.  As joyful as he can be and as excited, he can also be angry.  It doesn't happen often, but when it does he scares himself with the depth of those feelings.  He takes after me and it is both flattering and frightening.  Frank and I refer to him as the healer of broken hearts because after Liam's death, we weren't sure we would ever feel joy again, and now we live with joy in one of its purest forms.
Wren is a watcher at seven, always has been and always will be.  Her innate intelligence is staggering.  She took a while to speak (she didn't really have to as Dermot did all the talking and often still does), but when she did it came out in strings of words with emphasis and accuracy.  She didn't say much but when she did you could not help but listen.  She became obsessed with puzzles at 18 months old and sees anything she doesn't master academically as a challenge rather than a defeat. Her great intelligence is matched only by her beauty both internally and externally.  She cares, she worries, she protects those she loves.  She is fearless in that, like a tiny lioness.  This is all bundled in a small package of penetrating blue eyes and delicate blond hair, sometimes when I look at her it takes my breath away.  She takes after her father and has no problem matching her stubbornness to his.  She will go toe-to-toe to his six feet and commanding voice when she thinks she is right, not backing down for a second.  It is a source of both pride and utter consternation for her father.
So now I have set the stage I will tell you the story of the waterfall.  At one point about 18 months ago, we were living with my in-laws while we sold our house in Annapolis and looked for one in the Philadelphia area.  The kids were sharing a room with two sets of bunk beds and both sleeping in little nests on both bottom bunks.  I was settling them down for the night and had read them stories and giggled with Dermot about some fart joke or another (I have always and will always find farts hysterical).  They were a bit restless and I laid down on the carpet between the two beds and quieted them several times in the darkness.  Dermot drifted off and then a small voice from Wren's side of the room said, "Mama?"
"Yes Wren?"
"I've been thinking."
(Uh oh, I thought to myself, brace yourself Fiona)
"What about Wren?"
"Well... Life is like a waterfall."
"What do you mean chicken?"
"Well, you are born at the top of the waterfall.  Then when the water falls, that is your life.  And when you hit the bottom, it's over and you die."
"Wow, Wren, that's really cool but kind of scary also."
"Not really... waterfalls are beautiful.  Good night Mama."
At this she turned over and fell asleep quickly and peacefully... I on the other hand lay on the floor for half and hour longer in complete and apoplectic existential angst.  She could not have been more right.  To her it was all about perspective.  You could view waterfalls as scary, which they can be, or you can view them as beautiful, which they are.  Life can sometimes be scary, but you can choose to view it as beautiful, which it is.  This from the mouth of a five and half year old.
Children are miracles, tiny people who ought to be listened to much more than they often are.  They see the world in a way that we jaded adults have forgotten.