What We Have Learned About Heaven

There is nothing positive about losing a parent. Nothing. Even knowing that he isn’t suffering with extreme pain anymore doesn’t quite do it. He still had to suffer. That was not right. We still miss him terribly and it seems to get lonelier every day. I need to know how many feet are in a mile and have to actually Google it when I used to be able to Dial-An-Expert for the personal touch. We live in this new world of grief which is a really, really weird one. We laugh and it makes us nervous. We cry and it makes sense. We laugh again and decide that we are just unhinged. The female parent on the team at a minimum.

But, my father’s death has at least given us plethora of opportunity to talk to the kids about God and Heaven in age appropriate language. I guess that has been a good thing in a grasping at straws kind of way. The son is getting it. The daughter, not so much. At least I thought this was the case based upon her line of questioning and suggestions around how I could see my Dad and she could visit her Grandpa. First, she didn’t understand why I didn’t call him or know his new phone number. I explained his number couldn’t be ported to the new place. Next, she suggested taking a big plane to see him since Heaven is far, far away. When told that wasn’t going to work out that well as there were no scheduled flights to Heaven and I was absolutely, unquestioningly unwilling to take one that had any of those “unscheduled water landings” to get there, she didn’t see why. After all, we were able to go to China in a big plane and that pretty much was proof that it was doable. She also asked if Heaven is in China, Peru or Ohio. Given I grew up in Ohio, that was the final sign I was failing and she just wasn’t getting it at all. Granted, Ohio is a friendly state with a big “Hi” in the middle. But, for gosh sake it does frequently freeze over which would clearly suggest it is on the opposite end of the Heaven spectrum.

And then, one evening, I assaulted her sense of personal dignity when I told her she could not go to sleep with a sharp pen in her hand as everyone knows that would put her eye out. After a bit of perfunctory screaming, she did seem to appreciate my care and concern. She gave it some very deep thought and told me that “she wanted me to go to heaven.” I was really moved considering the enormity of her goodwill toward me. I thanked her and told her how sweet she was and that I certainly wanted her to go to heaven as well.

It was the perfect Hallmark moment. I was so proud of my little girl and my parenting. She was appreciating my efforts to keep her safe and with two good eyes. Background music played in my mind as I met her gaze. She gazed intensely into my eyes, held her gaze for what seemed like many blessed minutes and then told me “NOW” in the slow voice she uses when she wants to make sure her listener fully understands both her annunication and the intent of her comments. Yep, it was her final word before rolling over to go to sleep.

For some reason, I think she is starting to get it.