Let it snow II: Fire and ice

I was still sleeping the other morning when my boy, in his Thomas the Tank Engine jammies, crawled up next to me and stared out the window at the falling pre-dawn snow. "Mom?" he said. "A lot of people have died already. Right?"

I open my eyes and look at his still-sleepy face. "Right," I said.

He takes this in. I thought I should probably think of something to say, but what? I want to tell him we're immortal, that (to crib from Kurt Vonnegut) everything is beautiful and nothing hurts here on this planet. That it's a perpetually snowy, sleepy, jammied-up and cozy-with-mom place. I want to tell him not to think about these kinds of things, that it's forbidden until he's at least 21, or he'll be grounded.

"Why do you ask?" I finally say.

"There have been a lot of crashes and fires," he quickly replies.

"Yes," I say. "there have been."

He looks at me and smiles his 5-year-old smile. "But it's okay." And he tackles me.

Jack's crash-and-burn gear