Out of nowhere tonight, Eliza asked me what my dad's name was. I said his name was Brad. She asked where he lived. I told her Heaven. She asked where is Heaven. I told her it was everywhere. Then she asked if he ate his dinner before he went to Heaven.
These are the moments that I want to spontaneously combust as a parent. It is all at once tragic in truth and beautiful in reality. To a 2.5 year old, Heaven is just some place that you go before or after a meal. If we could only boil it down to be that simple, would we be lighter? Would we be less stressed?
I wish I knew, and I wish I had a better answer for that question should she ask again.
1 comment:
awwww...that's the last time I read your blog when I am alone in a room full of sleeping pre-schoolers! snif snif...seriously!!!
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