When asked, Day-Hay gives her age as �almost-twelve.� Almost-twelve is an age of constant change. Your body is changing, the way you look at the world is changing, and the expectations around you are changing. You are changing and your friends are changing. If you have a sister almost three years older, she�s still changing too. And with change comes gain but change also brings loss. Some of us emphasize the gain. Others, like Day-Hay, seem in continual mourning.

I know that she�s grieving the loss of her sister as playmate. Kat has an incredibly difficult class schedule, is working on stage crew for the school musical, and there is a guy in the picture. Kat is not home very often and when she is home, she is studying, particularly with finals coming up next week. Last night, when Kat came home from stage crew after Day-Hay was in bed, she stopped in to tell Day-Hay good night . Day-Hay was delighted to see her and to have her pay attention.

We�ve tried to encourage her to spend more time with her friends to fill in the loss of Kat. It works and it doesn�t. While her best friend is still her best friend, several of her friendships have become very volatile. Although the girls in Day-Hay�s grade are generally nice kids, the truth is that almost-twelve is an age for experimenting in saying abominable things to each other and establishing pecking orders. Friendship is harder than it used to be.

And then there is the traditional reason to grieve: death and impending death. Day-Hay has had encountered more death in her almost-twelve years than I did in mine. Some of it is attributable to being the child of a mother who did not have children until she was in her thirties. Day-Hay probably doesn�t realize that just knowing two great-grandmothers was unlikely. Yes, she is facing the impending death of a beloved great-uncle but, while he is not very, very old, he also is not very young. I�m sure it didn�t help that she discovered this week that his smoking appears to have shortened not only his life but also that of Day-Hay�s beloved great-aunt who now also has been diagnosed with lung cancer.

But some of it has been sudden, unexpected death (or the treat of death) of the young. I�m not sure why she has encountered so much of it. The house fire that killed a family of five who belonged to our synagogue, the death of Rob�s step-brother in his twenties, the death of a teenage girl down the street from encephalitis all have contributed to her unease. Her best friend�s mother has commented that Day-Hay seems more traumatized by the near-death of her best friend from complications of E. coli the summer before last than her best friend has been.

Whatever the reasons, Day-Hay struggles with periodic bouts of grief. (Luckily, it does not seem to translate into generalized depression. It�s more like the scenery to the heights and depths of the emotional roller-coaster called puberty.) I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry with her. But, most of all, I feel extremely glad that I am not almost-twelve.

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