On lizards and other life lessons

Recently this little fellow turned up in our garden.

Apart from being sans tail, he was the most beautiful little lizard. He had lovely markings and sparkly jet black eyes. He stayed for a numbers of days, soaking up the sun and the warmth from some paving.

That was, until the fateful afternoon. The one when I found Argy and Bargy crouched over the lizard. There he was: lying prone; eyes shut tightly and mouth agape. Mum, look the lizard is sleeping. Now, admittedly my mouth tends to hang open like that when I am kipping, but it was clear that this guy had shuffled off the mortal coil.

Mum should we get him a drink of water? Or maybe put him in the sun? The boys proffered. How can we cheer him up?

Poor lizard. I wondered what had happened.

I took a breath: I knew I was going to have to explain death. I felt a pang of sadness, as another little piece of innocence was about to be lost. The conversation was short and factual. I don't think Bargy understood too well, but Argy was upset. A large tear rolled down his cheek as he realised that the lizard wouldn't be waking.

:: :: :: ::

Fast-forward to a different time and place - and a discussion about families. Argy was asking me about my grandmas and where they were.

Since we'd had the previous conversation, I thought I could gently explain that they had both died. You know, like the lizard.

Oh said Argy with curiosity ... Who stood on them, Mum?

Well, I guess that solves the mystery of how the lizard met its demise.