Explaining the Movie Massacre

Alex Teves.

He's one of the victims of the movie massacre in Colorado. We didn't know him, but his death is hitting home. The 24-year-old was from Ahwatukee and graduated from Desert Vista High School, which we pass every day. His memorial service took place last weekend at a church two blocks away from our home. There is a memorial for Alex Teves tastefully placed in a grassy area along our daily route. I noticed it yesterday. Po noticed it today.

"MOMMY! I didn't know there was a GRAVE right there!"

"It's not a grave, Po. It's a memorial. It's a place where people can remember someone who died. They can leave things and think about the person who died, but there is no body buried there."

"Who died?"

"A man named Alex Teves. He was shot in Colorado."

"That's far away. If he died in Colorado, then why is that stuff here?" he asked.

"Well, he is from here. So he has family and friends here that care about him very much."

Po thought for a moment. And I knew that what I'd shielded him from was about to be cracked. "Why did he get shot?"

I tried to keep it simple, yet truthful. "Someone shot him. That person didn't know him. That person was very, very sick in his brain. There are very few people in this world that are so sick in their brains like that, so it's nothing for you to worry about, but you should know that Alex Teves was very brave. His girlfriend was with him, and he protected her from the sick man, so she's okay. Isn't that brave and wonderful?"

"Yes, but, he's dead?"

"Yes." I confirmed.

"His parents must be really sad. They should just make another baby."

"I'm sure his parents are very sad, but they can't just make another baby to replace him."

"Why not?" he inquired, so innocently.

"Well, people can't be replaced. There is only one you, and only one me. There is only one of each of us. And there was only one Alex Teves. His parents can't just have another baby to make it better."

"Yes they could. They could just have another baby."

Was I really tackling a conversation about death AND conception in one swoop with my five-year-old, way-to-smart-for-MY-own-good son? "Well, I suppose they could have another baby, but it wouldn't be Alex. It would be a whole different person. They could have a new, wonderful, person in their lives, but they couldn't replace their son."

Po thought again, and decided, "yes, they could. They could just name the new baby the same name."

"Lots of people have the same name. There are a lot of people named 'Alex' in this world, but just because you name someone the same name doesn't mean they are the same person. We gave you your middle name, 'Ed,' after Grandpa Ed and Cam's middle name 'Libby' after Grandma Libby, but you aren't them. You are you. And Cam is Cam. We named you those names because we loved them and wanted to give you a proud name. Not because we wanted you to BE them. You have to be your own person."

He wasn't buying it. Maybe I went too far.

"Mommy, if I died and you had another baby, you could name him Porter, and it would be okay because I would give him all of my memories."

Gulp. I waived the white flag.

"Porter, you are the sweetest boy ever. I don't think that's possible, but the fact that you'd be willing to give someone else your memories is just beautiful. You are thoughtful, kind, and sentimental, and I love you so very much. Let's not worry about any of this any more, okay? If you want to talk about it more another time, we can, but let's just go home and have a nice lunch, for now."

"Okay," he sighed.

Then, there was another voice. One we hadn't heard for several minutes. One we almost forgot was there.

"I give my memories, too," Cam quietly declared.

What else could I possibly say? "Cam, I know you would. And you are such a wonderful person because of it."

She sighed and placed a request: "Can you turn on 'Fireworks' (Katy Perry), Mommy?"

"Yeah!" said Po.

And so I did. And so we sang. And then we had lunch. And those two forgot about the whole thing (I think).

I never will.