Death Is a Relative Thing

Death is a relative thing.
Indeed, when relatives die, you mourn some, and others, well, let's just say good things come to pass, too. In other words, you lose some and you win some, and sometimes, when you lose one, you WIN.
But I'm not talking about dysfunctional families, or even the death of a relative. Rather, the topic is how kids cope with death, when they don't even understand it (indeed, lots of adults don't understand it, or cope with it). And how to help them channel the surge of conflicting emotions.
This particular case involved only the possibility of death, when the disappearance of Jack's hermit crab, appropriately named "Mr. Krabs," sent him into inconsolable, uncontrollable and unrequited sobs of grief.
The 5-year-old had had Mr. Krabs, whose name also commemorated the boys' fondness for all things SpongeBob, for only a day, so it's not like they were longtime pals. They might as well have been, though, the way Jack carried on when Mr. Krabs went AWOL.

One minute, the little fella (Mr. Krabs, not Jack) was playing in the sandbox, and the next, he was gone. Jack wasn't nimble enough, nor were various family members quick enough, to put Mr. Krabs back in the box again.
For some reason, Jack fixated on the possibility that a bird might sweep down and pluck Mr. Krabs up for a tasty bite, perhaps with a bit of drawn butter.
He cried day and night, from bedtime to reveille, sobbing to sleep and awakening teary-eyed.
Of course, Melissa tried to ease his mind, suggesting that Mr. Krabs probably was off on a lark. However, if he had met an untimely end, she said, she could understand Jack's anguish — and even feel his pain — because she had felt sad when her Grandma Honey died several years ago.
Jack had never met Honey, but he has seen videos, and she seemed like a good vehicle for Melissa to connect with Jack's grief. She told him how she missed Honey and how blue she had been when her grandmother died.
Imagine Melissa's surprise, then, when her second-born replied belligerently, "YEAH, but were you little?"
She had to admit that, well, no, she hadn't been.
That's where we get back to death's being a relative thing. (And here you thought that the beginning of this recollection was just for shock value and I'd never get to the topic.)
Relatively speaking, the escape, and possible death, of a hermit crab is infinitesimally insignificant in the wider scope of eternity. Unless, of course, you're a 5-year-old.
Jack's got a new hermit crab now, one that'll never get to stroll in the sandbox, thanks to Mr. Krabs' elusive ways. But I've got to believe that, in Jack's quiet moments (perhaps while he's sitting on the throne), in his deepest thoughts, in the very depths of his soul, he's wondering whereinHELL Mr. Krabs is.
Chances are, he'll never know.