If you’ve been following me on Instagram, you’d know that Amy has been talking about Alexa.
It all started a few months ago. She had just learned the concept of death after watching The Good Dinosaur. One evening at home, the hubby was washing the dishes while I was finishing dinner, when Amy suddenly nonchalantly said:
“I have a sister. My sister is in Malaysia. My sister died already.”
The hubby and I froze and looked at each other. Nobody had mentioned anything about Alexa to her up till that point.
Following that, there were a few more instances where she would say things like “I have a sister!” or “What’s my sister’s name?”. Honestly speaking, our first reaction was to deny that she had a sister. But then, we decided to be truthful instead. So we finally told her, “Your sister’s name is Alexa.”
And until today, she remembers her sister’s name.
With an innocence only a child can have, she will occasionally bring Alexa up. “I have a sister, and her name is Alexa.” “Alexa is my sister.”
One morning, while I was driving them to childcare before going to work, Amy asked me, “Mama, what are your sisters’ names?”
“They are Karen and Priscilla,” I said.
She nodded in satisfaction. “I have a sister too and her name is Alexa,” she said while playing with her cap on her lap, kicking her legs, and looking out of the car window. “I love Alexa because she’s my sister. Alexa will love me because I’m her sister, and she will like to play with me because I’m her sister.”
I was driving as I listened to her, and suddenly I felt a lump in my throat and I had to blink hard.
She is right. Alexa would have loved to play with her. They would have been wonderful sisters. They would have been able to play dolls together, paint together, read together, tie each other’s hair up, shared dresses…
I took a mental deep breath, and gave Amy a smile. “One day, we will see Alexa in heaven, OK?”
And she nodded as though she understood the complexity of it all. “OK!”