Out of Sight, In mind

Benjamin noticed roadkill on the way home from school yesterday. It's not the first time, but it sparked quite a conversation. As we pulled into the driveway, our discussion had turned to autumn and the way the leaves were starting to turn color. He pointed at a cluster of dead leaves high up in the biggest tree in our front yard.
"But those didn't fall, they're just already dead," he said.
"They are," I told him, and explained that those leaves were on a broken branch. Without being connected to the rest of the tree, they died.
"Because they can't get the sap?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "It's like that branch can't eat or drink anymore. If something stops eating and drinking for too long, it might die."
Without a pause, he asked, "Then why did Halmuni die?"
I was stunned that she was in his thoughts so spontaneously and in such direct relation to our discussion. We've done our best to explain what happened to Nisha's mom without making the world seem completely awful, but it's hard to tell exactly what he understands and what he remembers.
I did my best to explain that she had a sickness that was sort of like being unable to eat or drink, that parts of her were like the broken branch in the tree. Again, doing my best to not make the world seem too awful or scary.
Bug launched into one of his mile-a-minute monologues. It was about medicine and boo boos, and how to fix things. It was so fast and jumbled that I caught very little of it except when he slowed down at the end. "Maybe I could tell that to the doctors," he said. "And maybe to you too. Maybe that might help."
"Maybe that would," I told him. "Thanks, Bug."
I hate that he's in a situation where he has to try and wrap his brilliant little brain around death, especially in such a personal way. But at the same time it's amazing and reassuring that, more than a year after her death, Halmuni is still in his thoughts, and he still loves her and wants to make her boo boos better, just like she always did for him.