Why?

I try to put an end to the whys but they keep coming.

Please don’t jump on the couch. The little voice pipes up, “why?” He is just getting started.

“You might fall."

But why isn’t shy, so the little voice wants to know “why” again. By the afternoon, he is a broken record. I close my eyes and when I open them, his big brown eyes are an inch from mine with question marks dotting his pupils. My love for this little being — who wants nothing more than to know more — overwhelms me. I scoop him up and swallow all his questions with kisses. First on his neck then his bouncy little cheeks.

We read a book before nap time, “The Cat in the Hat.” He remembers grandma has a cat.

“But not anymore,” I say.

“Why.”

“Because the cat died.”

The word leaves my mouth before I realize I have no idea how to explain death to a 2 year old. Why does one life end and another hang on?

Finley, our golden retriever is 6. He was diagnosed with cancer last March. After chemo, his lymph nodes — at one time the size of golf balls — shrunk and hardened. All the while, he sits by his brother’s side during meal time, bath time, and most other times.

My guy doesn’t know Finley is fighting. But he knows Grandma’s cat is gone. Luckily, he skips over the word that worried me. He moves on to her injured leg.

“Grandma have a boo boo?”

“Yes, grandma has a boo boo.”

“When she getting better?”

Rehab will take 10 weeks. Her bone shattered like glass stepping over the dog in the den. “Why?” My dad wants to know. “Everything happens for a reason right? What’s the reason for this?” he demands.

“Maybe, she’ll quick smoking.” Scoff! There has got to be a better reason than that.

Sometimes our answers are just a guess. Other times, they come with zucchini.

The snow falls overnight and the next morning, as the sun brightens the white landscape, we see our neighbor – a widow, thin and hearty like a string bean – outside shoveling. My husband is upset. Her driveway is down to the pavement before he pours cereal in his bowl.

We will snow blow for you, he told her in the summer when the new machine took up residency in our garage. She nodded along, all the while, planning, plotting for the first snow to arrive.

Before we got our snow blower, I talk to Joan by her rhubarb. “I don’t know what we’ll do when it snows.”

“Shovel, Patty,” she said in a low and knowing tone. I laughed. “You’ve got too.” she insisted handing me a zucchini the size of my son’s car seat.

Answers to Jeopardy questions are easy, they come first. In life, knowing why is trickery.

I buy balloons in the supermarket to avoid a major meltdown at the cash register. The next morning I see little arms and little legs flailing in the air like beached whale two inches above the living room rug. He seems suspended in midair. But the red balloon peaks through; it is perfectly propped under his belly. When it pops he is proud. He brings me the remains and says, “Balloon fall, mommy.”

“You mean popped?” I say. And his whole face is one big smile. “Popped,” he says, eyebrows lifting with excitement.

“Why did you pop the balloon,” I ask?

I could have asked, why does Big Bird sing the ABC’s? Some questions in life are not about the answers, but about the journey.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Pop pop” he says, dancing away.