I went his grandmother's house, my aunty's place one night for a visit. There were a few people there as well, discussing amongst others, raya plans. He was moving about from room to room, catching a glimpse of everyone around and then stopped at me.
"Uncle Azmil, can you help me fix my Lego?"
"What are you building?"
"I'm building a spaceship but I got stuck. I cannot find the piece for the next step. Can you help me, please? Please?"
I'm not one to deny children's requests, especially if it's harmful ones like this. Plus there was a lot of time left before the dinner 'party' was over and I could sure use the opportunity to bond, knowing that I've hardly known him. Although it was somewhat a cautious walk up the stairs (I've never been above ground level in this aunty's house so every step is a mystery unraveled) we went up.
"Who else is upstairs?"
"My sister."
"What is she doing?"
"I don't know."
When we got upstairs, his sister wasn't there. She had already gone down (I knew of this as I saw her before I ascended) and the room was lighted with many bits and pieces of Lego on the floor. He brought me to a partly finished lego structure, a storm trooper looking space vehicle.
I browsed through Lego's pictorial guide on how to build the spaceship then realised that he skipped two steps by accident. Back tracked and rebuilt it from there on.
While I worked on his spaceship, he asked me,
"Uncle Azmil, how does it feel like when you die?"
"I don't know. I've not died before,"
I thought it was one of those questions children ask, without intention, without real interest. Just a question.
"When you know, can you tell me?"
"I'm not sure if I can. When I die, I won't be seeing you again. What makes you think about this?"
"I miss him. How is he? Is he in heaven?"
Tears welling up in his eyes. He sniffles while his hands continue playing around with his pieces of lego.
I continue putting together his spaceship.
"I think he is."
"I think he is too. How is it like in heaven? Only good people go to heaven, right?"
"Yes, only good people go to heaven."
"I miss him.."
He is missing his great grandfather, my grand uncle, who has just passed-on a few months ago. It would be 1 year by the end of this year and his presence must have meant something for a little soul like this to be teary-eyed. I just felt broken-hearted not being able to say something better to him, not being able to comfort his fragile soul. All I could say was,
"Don't think too much about it. You've got a lot of growing up to do, a lot of happy moments to think of. It's just too soon for you to think of death."
We finished the spaceship and he could muster a smile of satisfaction looking at it. It could probably have distracted his attention and though he wanted me to stay up there longer, I couldn't. It was a deal, I told him, that I'd fix his spaceship and then I'll go down.
We went down together and watched tv. It was the Manchester Derby that night.
As my family and I were about to leave, I reminded him,
"Don't think too much about it ya? Be happy as a child."
For a moment, he seemed confused. Then,
"Oh, ya, about that ya? Ok, I won't."
Almost as if we promised, we vowed to keep it to ourselves.
I shall not name him.
He is only 8.
"Uncle Azmil, can you help me fix my Lego?"
"What are you building?"
"I'm building a spaceship but I got stuck. I cannot find the piece for the next step. Can you help me, please? Please?"
I'm not one to deny children's requests, especially if it's harmful ones like this. Plus there was a lot of time left before the dinner 'party' was over and I could sure use the opportunity to bond, knowing that I've hardly known him. Although it was somewhat a cautious walk up the stairs (I've never been above ground level in this aunty's house so every step is a mystery unraveled) we went up.
"Who else is upstairs?"
"My sister."
"What is she doing?"
"I don't know."
When we got upstairs, his sister wasn't there. She had already gone down (I knew of this as I saw her before I ascended) and the room was lighted with many bits and pieces of Lego on the floor. He brought me to a partly finished lego structure, a storm trooper looking space vehicle.
I browsed through Lego's pictorial guide on how to build the spaceship then realised that he skipped two steps by accident. Back tracked and rebuilt it from there on.
While I worked on his spaceship, he asked me,
"Uncle Azmil, how does it feel like when you die?"
"I don't know. I've not died before,"
I thought it was one of those questions children ask, without intention, without real interest. Just a question.
"When you know, can you tell me?"
"I'm not sure if I can. When I die, I won't be seeing you again. What makes you think about this?"
"I miss him. How is he? Is he in heaven?"
Tears welling up in his eyes. He sniffles while his hands continue playing around with his pieces of lego.
I continue putting together his spaceship.
"I think he is."
"I think he is too. How is it like in heaven? Only good people go to heaven, right?"
"Yes, only good people go to heaven."
"I miss him.."
He is missing his great grandfather, my grand uncle, who has just passed-on a few months ago. It would be 1 year by the end of this year and his presence must have meant something for a little soul like this to be teary-eyed. I just felt broken-hearted not being able to say something better to him, not being able to comfort his fragile soul. All I could say was,
"Don't think too much about it. You've got a lot of growing up to do, a lot of happy moments to think of. It's just too soon for you to think of death."
We finished the spaceship and he could muster a smile of satisfaction looking at it. It could probably have distracted his attention and though he wanted me to stay up there longer, I couldn't. It was a deal, I told him, that I'd fix his spaceship and then I'll go down.
We went down together and watched tv. It was the Manchester Derby that night.
As my family and I were about to leave, I reminded him,
"Don't think too much about it ya? Be happy as a child."
For a moment, he seemed confused. Then,
"Oh, ya, about that ya? Ok, I won't."
Almost as if we promised, we vowed to keep it to ourselves.
I shall not name him.
He is only 8.
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