I'm back

...and catching up on my reading. Came across Molly's post on children and death, and since that's been on my mind a bit, I found myself writing a comment that would have used too much space. So I'm "commenting" here instead.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

That prayer has been sanitized (i.e. Americanized) so that Death doesn't make an appearance. It will frighten the children, right?

It never frightened me...

This is one of the Sanitized versions I found searching Google:

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
Guard me while I sleep tonight,
And wake me safe at dawn's first light.

I'd like to just be on the record here in responding: Ishy-ick. Pap.

Here's the long, original, version:

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, bless the bed that I lie on.
Before I lay me down to sleep, I give my soul to Christ to keep.
Four corners to my bed, four angels there aspread,
Two to foot, and two to head, and two to carry me when I'm dead.
I go by sea, I go by land, the Lord made me by his right hand.
If any danger comes to me, Sweet Jesus Christ, deliver me.
He's the branch, and I'm the flower, pray God send me a happy hour.
And if I die before I wake, I pray that Christ my soul will take. (--Brett Blair)

I must have heard this when I was quite young, because I have a lovely vision of angels at the corners of my (toddler-age) bed. I remember thinking about that vision when I had surgery a few years back, as well. Odd that I don't recall thinking of it when I was giving birth....

But anyway, children. Death. My theory is that kids remain afraid of what scares their parents, things the Powerful Ones can't--or won't--explain, the Unknown. Once it's known, it's quantifiable, or at least pigeon-hole-able.

Fear of death is a stage kids go through. One can but hope that while the tots are going through that stage, no one in their vicinity becomes ill, or dies. I think I was that age when my sister nearly died. Hence my morbid fascination with angels around my bed, and probably much of the drama and angst of my mostly-boring-Thank-God life. My son was about that age when I had surgery. I wonder how it changed him.
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Yes, of all the posts I've read, this is the one that I riff on. It has, clearly, been one of 'those' weeks.

Once I find my center I'll report in, properly. But this post should actually give you a fair picture of where my head has been of late. One summation is that Sartre was right, almost: Hell is other people, specifically relatives. Sometimes. Another is that there are worse things in the universe than death.