The other night while driving home from swim lessons, I noticed that the sky was particularly beautiful. There was a dusting of clouds that glowed with the soft warm colors of the setting sun. It was spectacular.
I pointed out the clouds to B and we sat silently admiring the beautiful site. A few seconds later, we had this conversation:
“I think that’s where Heaven is.”
“I think you’re right kiddo.”
“I think that’s where mine Mamie lives. Waaay up there. I wish she would come back and live in her house so I could go and play.”
Trying not to cry: “I wish she would too.”
In true toddler form with no hint of sadness, but rather hopefulness she said: “I hope she has someone to play leggos with. Maybe great grandma. Or Jesus.”
I hate that she has had to learn about death and loss and heaven at such a young age. I hate that heaven has to be a part of our daily conversations. But I don’t want her to fear death or heaven, I want it to be an open, easy and welcome conversation for her. I want her to remember Mame and to know that it’s ok to miss her and that we can talk about her and remember all the good times and good things about her. I just have to learn to do it without having to choke back tears each time.