Explaining Death

We have a number of guinea fowl and chickens. We started with five guineas which we are free-ranging in our back yard: Blondie, Billie Joe, Joey, Henry, and Jello. At some point in their adolescence (a few months old) two went missing. Henry and Jello still had flight feathers, so I am hoping they just found a new home elsewhere, but it is highly likely they just 'flew the coop' and were a quick lunch for some local owls, or heaven forbid, some of the local 'free ranging' neighbors' dogs. *grumpfest* I won't go into the local custom of 'free-range' dogs, it's just too much for this post.
Maeven, age 4.5, has been sad about losing Henry and Jello, but she was able to accept the explanations of their disappearance. We talk of them often, but it hasn't been stressful. My 15 month old Aisling isn't quite at the age where any of this makes any sense or matters.

Last week, we added four more guineas: Crowley, Castiel, Sammie, and Dean. And we added six chickens: Mary Ann, Ginger, Rose, River, Amelia, and Clara. These ten are still hatchling chicks. Mary Ann and Ginger are a week or so older, but all very vulnerable and small. When the Punks (the five original guineas) were this small, we had their pen in the house. I was keeping the house warmer, too, as it was still chilly out at night. Well it's full-on summer now, so we put the keets and chicks outside. We built a bigger coop for all the birds, where the 3 almost-fully-adult guineas now overnight. The chicks' pen has been up on the porch next to the house.

At some point in the last 8 hours, we lost Crowley. Poor sweet little albino guinea keet, body still warm, absent of life. Maeven and I went out to hand-feed the chicks and keets and she saw before I did, "Wake up! Mommy, this one isn't waking up." I looked, and saw his crumpled form, and realized this was her very first experience with death.

I got my oldest son to help. He picked up Crowley with gloved hands. We examined his feathers, found no visible sign of injury. His eyes were open, glossy and clear. He had no breath within him, no sign of life. He was still warm, but it's summer in Texas so he wouldn't cool that quickly. With gentle care, Aus took Crowley around the back of the barn, got a shovel, and asked me, "Where?"

We decided Crowley should rest beneath our apple tree, which isn't very big yet. I had already planned to put a bench and turn the apple-tree-corner of our yard into a place of serenity, so why not place our lost fur-and-feather-babies there. He started the hole, and Maeven piped up, "I want to help! Let me get my shovel too!"

A few moments' search, and she couldn't find her shovel. She came back to watch Aus finish the small hole, and we placed Crowley into the hole, without any wrappings or box. I would have given him more dignity, but the process of decay would be hindered by the sentiment. We each put a handful of dirt in the hole, and said some words. Then Aus filled it back and we all came inside.
I explained to Maeven, "Crowley is dead. Dead is gone, forever. But his body still has something to give us. His body has atoms and molecules, and the tree will use him for food. He will become parts of the tree. We can call the tree Crowley if you want."

"Mom! I don't want Crowley to turn into a tree! I miss Crowley, I want a new Crowley. Daddy can make me a new Crowley."

"Honey, there will only be one Crowley, ever. His spirit is gone, his body is empty. We need to let his body go into the dirt, become part of the tree. The birds will enjoy him as a tree, he will feed and shelter the birds, and give us shade. And maybe some apples."

Explaining death to a 4 year old is difficult. One of the hardest things I've ever had to do as a mother. There isn't a quick and easy, "He's gone to heaven, and we'll meet him there some day" answer for me to give her. Because I can't fill her head full of bullshit. Death is final. The bits of our body that remain become food for microorganisms, for bugs. We nurture the soil, become fertilizer. We become part of the plants, the trees and grasses, or more directly, if we're not embalmed or burnt up and ground up, we become food for larger beasts. When those things die, they continue to become food and nourishment for more living creatures, and on and on goes the life cycle. The things that make us who we are, those are lost forever. But the stuff within, everything else, it continues to be recycled over and over and over, becoming new things with new (but temporary) consciousness and spirit which will be lost in time just as we were.

How do I simplify this without losing the heart of the process, without filling her head full of fairy tails and imaginary places? Gently.

She is still talking about Crowley. This tiny, short life, that we only knew inside of a week. She wants Crowley back, she misses him, she wants a 'new Crowley'. "Daddy can make a new one, with white tape and stuff and things."
In my heart I want to be able to give her that. But I would not be doing her any favors to sneak a new albino guinea chick into the cage, and tell her 'look we got a new Crowley'. This is a life lesson. This is painful, awkward, and very important. And I know she will talk about it for a while, with a whimper in her voice, struggling to process the permanence of things. Crowley is gone. He is in the dirt, at the base of the apple tree.