More mist today. A spring-like humidity clings to winter coats: still too much snow to be outside without them, yet the freak warmth makes one feel like it’s April, not February. That’s Wisconsin for you.
Bash, Hoppy, and I on a happier day.
If only the mist didn’t seem to fit so perfectly with Bash’s constant talk of death.
“Noooo, I have to wear my mittens so I don’t get frostbite and die!”
“Can choking make me die?”
“Mom, how does Jesus get me after I die?”
Where this fixation came from, I don’t know. I’m surely responsible, at least in part, what with my Stop wrestling on the stairs before you kill each other! kinds of threats. Bo’s not helping, either.
“Mommy and Daddy are on a diet so that our coffins don’t break pallbearers’ backs.”
Y-yeah, that’s a great thing to tell the kids.
Yet I can’t bring myself to be angry, or even annoyed. See, not only did my father die suddenly in February–Bo’s, did, too, just three years before Dad.
“Mom, your mom is Grandma. Grandma is still alive, but your dad’s dead. How did he die?” Bash asks while playing with Transformers, like this is a normal question during a normal day, like this is a thing to ask right before “What’s for lunch? Do we have string cheese?”
“His heart stopped working,” I say quietly.
“And then he went to heaven?”
“Yup.”
“Where is heaven?”
“On top of the universe.”
“Ooooh,” Bash whines, and finds my lap without looking up from Optimus Prime mid-transformation. “That’s far away from you.”
I wrap my arms tight around my baby Bash, no longer so little,, but always my youngest, my snuggler, my storyteller. “Not that far, Bash. Never that far.”
~*~*~*~
Snuggle with your loved ones today. Give’em a kiss, show them what they mean to you.
Of course, I’m going to plug my novel here, too. but seriously, share your heart today. Life is too short not to fill it with love and hope.
Read on, share on, and write on, my friends.
Jean Lee's World 
It must be in the air. Son has been interrogating me about heaven, hell and death. I always struggle with this, so outside my comfort zone. You have the best approach, just hug them and show them your love.
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Thanks. It should be more, but what else can we do?
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Watch a few more Dr Phil shows, not that I ever have….
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Ha! Nah, I think I’ll do a bit of churchin’ instead. 🙂
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Sending hugs to all of you, friend. My middle uns reaction to an upcoming vacation: “What if the plane crashes.” then “Well, at least we’ll be together if we die, so no one’s left alone.”
😦 xxxxxxx
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xxxxx 🙂 xxxxx
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Amazing how kids get fixated on a topic. You’ve handled it beautifully.
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Thanks, Friend. x
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I remember when Poor John’s mother unexpectedly at the age of 83. Our older daughter, Libby, was a teenager and had such an insightful comment. Of course she was sad, but she thought Grandma had had such a great time in the week before. Libby said, more or less, ‘We were all together last week to celebrate the Chinese New Year at her favourite restaurant, her favourite player won the Australian Open, she won $1.23 a bridge and then died in her sleep’.
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Yes! She lived her final moments in love. If we live every moment in love, then every moment can be a good final moment.
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So true, Jean, and as I reread my comment, I see all the typos.
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Oh pish. Typos, schmypos. 🙂
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Thank you for sharing this story from your day’s experience. It’s real, and it’s loving.
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And I thank you for reading it! x
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Sweet children ❤
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They are indeed. 🙂
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Yes… it’s always uncomfortable when they suddenly discover that they won’t live forever and neither will you. But I reckon you did the right thing – answer gently, truthfully and hug and lot… Another gem from you, Jean:)
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Thanks, Friend xxxxx
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