“We’re not going to do the snowman song today, are we?” a four-year old boy asked me as I was setting up for music class at the local children’s museum. I wasn’t clear on what he said or meant in the moment, but then his Mom apologetically reminded me about a class about four weeks earlier when her boy cried during that song because all of the snowmen melted.

Ah, how could I forget? The song starts out with five snowmen, and one by one they melt into puddles as the sun comes out. Kids love this song. We move and stretch and laugh and we count in a musical way. It’s a real crowd-pleaser. But for my gentle little friend, it was too much. Too much goodbye. Too much going away. I get it.

The room stood in quiet stillness there for a minute because the boy was so sweet, and the Mom so earnest, you couldn’t help but feel for them. The pain of goodbye is something we all deal with on some level or another, but here it was all laid out in front of us, Moms and kids and nannies and grandmas. Too much. I got down on the boy’s level and told him that I get sad sometimes too, that everyone does, but that we don’t want to feel sad in music class, so I would skip that one for the day. He smiled bravely, and as his voice broke, he said, “Yes, I was… a little sad …because of the melting.” Yeah, buddy, I get it.

When we watch the people and ideas and things we love most slowly disappear right in front of us, it can be so hard to take that we want to avert our gaze. Just last Sunday, I sang a fifth anniversary mass for my dear friend, Julie, right on the heels of the news of the death of our beloved Deacon Jerry. One minute these exceptional people were here with us, and with them so much joy and wisdom, and the next, gone. How do we reconcile such a thing? It seems to me that without faith, it’s impossible.

Yes, there’s melting, and things and people go away, and we can’t control it, and we don’t know how we’ll go on without them, but even Frosty knew he’d be back again one day. Thanks be to God, that’s how it works. We’re here, and we play and learn and teach and we experience so much, and then we’re gone, seemingly forever, until the day that everyone knows we never were gone to begin with. What a great day that will be. As Frosty said, it’s like a birthday.

That sweet boy and the moment we shared is in my heart forever. His gentle spirit and sensitive soul might make it hard for him as he moves through childhood, so I’m saying some prayers for him these days. One thing’s for sure, at age four, he sees the preciousness of life with more clarity than many people ever get. There’s something innate in him that made a room full of people stop and listen as our hearts all melted together, and that’s no small thing in a world that moves so fast.  He was our teacher that day, and I’m grateful.

Frosty the Snowman
Was alive as he could be
And the children say
He could laugh and play
Just the same as you and me

Frosty the Snowman
Knew the sun was hot that day
So he said let’s run
And we’ll have fun
Now before I melt away

So down to the village
With a broomstick in his hand
Running here and there all around the square
Saying catch me if you can

He led them down the streets of town
Right to the traffic cop
And he only paused a moment when
He heard him holler stop

Frosty the Snowman
Had to hurry on his way
But he waved goodbye
Saying don’t you cry
I’ll be back again some day