Out of the mouths of babes

Washing my hands in the sink between my classroom and the year 1 classroom yesterday, a little girl I recognised but didn't know came over to see me.
She told me that somebody at her mummy's work had died. And that her mummy was sad when he died. And that her mummy realised that the person who had died was my husband. So she asked me if it was my husband who had died and I told her it was. She then repeated how sad her mummy had been.
It was the first time a child at school had asked me about Nigel's death, and I was happy to answer her questions. It turns out her mummy works at the Council like Nigel did. Not in the same office but the same building.
A child's innocent view of death can, as I see it, make it easier to understand. She told me how her mum had felt, and that her mum had made the connection through surnames.
In a strange way I am glad to have talked about it at school. I always prefer it if people just ask. Gossiping behind my back achieves nothing.

And as my friend's little girl says, look for the brightest star in the sky, and you can see Nigel looking down on us.