my little girl just after she turned four, almost a year ago.
I wondered when this question would arise, and should have been more prepared.
Left stammering, I mustered the art of the parents-who-think-on-the-fly-’cause-we-have-to and answered: I think it’s whatever you want it to be.
How does a good parent answer this question? Is it based on what we want our children to believe, or what we ourselves truly believe? Luckily for me, the former and the latter were the case in my response.
My father died when I was fifteen, he was fifty.
one of the few photos I have with my dad. That's me in the bottom left-hand corner, he's in the top right with the fancy chapeau.
It was too young for both of us, yet our family moved on, although with a void present at all times. Even though our parents were divorced and our father didn’t live in our home–and I was the only child, last of four of us still living there–it was very different, because he simply wasn’t here anymore. We saw him lying there in the casket, we knew his soul went to Heaven, but it wasn’t the natural of order of things. We were lucky to have a mom with the strength of two parents, but we still missed our dad.
We were supposed to grow up, go to college, get jobs, get married, have kids. Sometime, much later on when our hair turned gray and our kids were out of diapers, our parents would pass away. This wasn’t supposed to happen when I was in high school. This sequence of events just wasn’t right.
Even before his passing I had wondered what Heaven holds for us: would it be paved with candy (as a child, and still quite honestly, my dream), could we sleep in, hang out on clouds, do good deeds, would everyone be kind? Would bullies turn nice, everyone turn color-blind, and everyone get along? It had to be something kind of like that, I always thought.
When he died, I had hoped it was a place filled with his favorite things: music (especially records spinning Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline, Harry Bellafonte’s DAY-O!), a party, hearty laughter, and knowing that we loved him.
Tonight, as this question sprung from the lips of my sweet, curly-haired five year old daughter, I was surprised to find tears falling the moment I tried to answer.
Wiping them on my t-shirt sleeve (even though I ask them not to) we talked about how the thunder she was hearing was the joyful sound of the angels bowling.
The lightning, I explained with the speed of an experienced storyteller (aka the skill we are somehow gifted with the moment our children are born), was the quick movement of the bowling balls of hundreds of thousands of angels moving at once: they are having a par-tay at the bowling alley above! And all the while, they’re helping the flowers grow. How cool is THAT?!
That’s cool, mama, she said. I hope your daddy just got a strike, she said as the clap shook the roof a little.
Yeah, me too, I bet he did, honey, I answered. He was a cool guy.
I carried her pillow and blankets next door as I agreed to let her sleep in her brothers’ room. My little explanation of the natural laws of thunder and lightning masked as a bowling party were entertaining, but the noises remained perhaps a bit too ominous for a five-year old.
BOOM! Grandpa! I know you got a bunch of bowling pins that time, didn’t ya?
We laughed at our hilarious selves and snuggled up together.
My seven-year-old, who had been eavesdropping said, Mama you’re lucky because you get to go to Heaven before us. I bet it’s cool there, ’cause you can have whatever you want, and people are really nice there.
It won’t be for a long time, honey, and I’ll be keeping an eye on you!
Each of their sweet, soft heads received a kiss my lips were so happy to give; this night somehow leaving us feeling a little lighter, a little softer-spoken towards each other. Not sure how, but straying from our normal conversation of Pokemon, Naruto, Johnny Quest and American Girl Dolls was just what the doctor ordered.
My dad in his youth. Yep, I'm pretty sure they wanted him in Heaven early too. Not sure what kind of bowler he was, though.
Mama, she popped up as I went to leave the room.
Standing there in her pink cupcake pajamas and tight platinum curls I answered her:
Yeah, baby?
I bet they wanted your Daddy in Heaven early, you know, because I think they liked him.
Yep, sweetie. I bet you’re right.
