On the first Thursday of this month, the Boy's maternal grandfather collapsed in his home in Newfoundland. He was resuscitated 15 minutes later, but really, the only benefit of that was that most of the family was able to gather around him and keep vigil, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Mamma was on a flight within an hour and a half. The Boy was promised a swim in the community pool, so we fit that in before we flew out later that evening. We spent a late night traveling by air and taxi to get to Nanny and Gidi's house in Newfoundland. "Gidi", by the way, is Arabic for "grandfather". Gidi would call the Boy "a little king". I remember him saying once to the Boy when he was not yet a year old, "Remember, your roots go all the way back to the desert." So when I produce and edit home movies about him, I called them "Desert King Productions".
We get to the house and I get him into bed. We have a little talk about death and dying before I go to the hospital to wait with Mamma. We would have several talks about death and dying over the next couple of days, and I realized that while most adults talk in cookie-cutter platitudes, it takes a five-year old to really ask the fundamental and honest questions that explore your faith. Such as that first night:
Boy: Why do people have to die anyway?
Me: It's just the way we're made, I guess.
Boy: Do people's bodies go to heaven?
Me: Well, it's more like their spirit, their soul that goes to heaven.
Boy: Oh. Is that like your imagination?
And:
Boy: When people get to heaven, can they walk?
Me: Yes.
Boy: Can they talk?
Me: Yes.
Boy: When you go to heaven, are people glad to see you?
Me: Yes, they sure are.
Gidi didn't die that night. He hung on until the next morning. His wife, three daughters and two son-in-laws were with him at the end. Three of his five grandchildren were back at the house, Gidi's son and family coming all the way from the States being the only ones who hadn't yet made it to Newfoundland. As the group of us walked the three blocks from the hospital to the house, the sisters talked solemnly about how they would get the children together and as gently as possible, tell them that Gidi had died. When we got back to the house, the children were downstairs in the playroom drawing pictures and having a little art competition. So when we all showed up, the first order of business was to present and describe to us their respective pieces of art. As this began to wind down the Boy piped up quite cheerfully:
Boy: Is he dead yet?
And that was that. Mamma told him yes, and the children went back to playing.
The next day was Gidi's wake, and the family went to the funeral home to say a last goodbye. I think the Boy was a bit confused. He had been told that Gidi had died, but there he was in the casket; a half-open casket that showed only his upper body. At bed-time, he had some more questions.
Boy: Does Gidi have a new face in heaven?
Me: Yes, I suppose he does.
Boy: Does he have a new body?
Me: Yes.
Boy: Do they match?
