Granny in heaven

It was Camp Granny this weekend, and we played Lincoln Logs and marbles and Tinker Toys, which aren’t wooden any more so they aren’t as much fun to chew.

Bedtime routine is thus: Bath, books, cuddle. The cuddling part is cool because they both — the little boy on the left and his twin sister — are masters at delaying the inevitable and they do so by seeking to engage whoever is tucking them in in deep conversations. If you’re a fan of deep conversations, you could do worse than soulful 4-year olds.

So this bull session, the boy asks point-blank: “Where do I come from?” and I fire back, Heaven. I love telling them the story of their birth, the excitement of finally holding them.

You came from God, I say.

“And did He say, ‘Take good care of them?'” and I say, Of course, and maybe my voice cracks a little.

And then we are talking about muscles, and I say off-handedly that when they have more muscles, they can carry me around when I’m old.

“You’re not old now?” the boys asks.

No, I say.

“Tomorrow?”

Yes. Probably tomorrow I will be old.

“And then you’ll go to heaven?” pipes up the girl.

Only if God grades on a curve, but you don’t tell a 4 year old that, so I say, Of course!

“And will you see your granny there?” he asks. I tell them a lot about my beloved Grandma Marrs, Best Granny Ever®. In the room where I keep their books and toys there hangs one of her old house dresses, framed. When she died, I retired her jersey.

Did she go to heaven, he asks? I say, Of course! though Grandma Marrs was on the fence about the whole heaven thing plus she was pretty fierce and spoke her mind without fear or favor, so if she made it, no one will be more surprised than she.

“And will she be happy to see us?” he asks. That one? I don’t even have to lie.

Of course.