Is there a right age to learn about Death?

My grandfather would argue there is not,

That we should learn about it early on to face the tragedy when it arises.

For me, I learned of Death as a nimble boy,

Curious and slippery.

You see, in Oil City, there is not much.

There are no malls, no major stores, no amusement parks,

But a community which, when you are a child, is lackluster.

My grandfather, existential and prophetic, would wade through the boxes with a smile.

He would sway to their collective hum.

I would act as a shadow,

One at the tips of day when they are the longest and farthest apart from the body.

Whilst he whispered to his colonies,

I would whisper to myself,

‘Oh please, little beings, he is but an old man, treat him how he treats you.’

On such an ordinary Sunday,

The day that slow grandma would be antiquing,

He would walk with my hand in his to his colonies.

We bore no suits,

No masks or gloves.

‘Sweet boy, they won’t hurt you if you won’t hurt them.’

The humming grew louder and my heart thumped faster.

Old grandpa opened a lid and stared as the assembly line of workers vibrating.

He, grandpa, held out his hand in agreement,

And a worker landed in his calloused palm.

His other hand capped over the bee,

Keeping it safe.

We waded back out of the colonies to the shore of their pond.

He opened his hand to check,

And he turned his hand over to me.

What I saw is what I always see when I think of old grandpa,

A honeybee, lying on its side, dead.

‘Sweet boy,’ he began with static in his voice,

‘Honeybees are just like men. We will do what we can to survive,

And keep those we love safe, even if it means losing life ourself.’

In this moment, old grandpa was no longer old grandpa, but old prophet.

If Death is something so common,

Why should a child not learn of it early on?

Why should a child not learn of it early on?

Why should a child not learn of it early on?