We told the kids about Kerri's passing Wednesday night as they were going to bed. Thursday morning at breakfast, we discussed it again. They asked some questions, reminded me that Kerri was in heaven, and ate quietly for maybe 90 seconds. Then commenced with the business of being 9, 7, and about to be 4.
I was not impressed with their grieving. I wanted them to be more somber, maudlin. I would've settled for pensive. Goofy was not what I had in mind.
They have no idea of what lies ahead for Carlee and Jolee, Kerri's daughters who are roughly the same ages as the oldest two of them. Of what it will be like to grow up without the mother who's raised them, been everything for them all their lives. They just know Kerri's where she's always wanted to be. That's enough for them.
Then I thought about how I respond to the news of genocide, the worldwide AIDS epidemic, entire cities being wiped out by natural disasters, widespread poverty, corruption, evil. About the only difference between my reaction to those things and the kids' response to Kerri's passing is how long I eat quietly before commencing the business of being 36. I rarely wait 90 seconds. It's not that I don't care. It's more like a feeling that God will ultimately sort everything out.