My husband Paul lost his grandma last
week – she would have been 95-years old in April. We shared with our young boys that she had died
and it was OK to be sad about the situation. We also shared with them that we planned
to celebrate her long life and her legacy with family in a traditional funeral and wake service.
We decided to bring the boys to the services –
both because it would have been difficult to find childcare for them – but also because we really believed that the services represented a celebration of a wonderful life
lived.
Liam is seven; he was very curious and
wanted to see his Great Nana and say goodbye. He asked me to bring him up to the front of
the room to see her, to kneel in front of her and to say a prayer. Three-year old Owen quickly followed behind his big brother, standing beside me and peaking into the side of the coffin. Both boys flanked me as we said our goodbyes.
“Why does she have flowers
near her? What is that cross in there for? Why does she look like she is sleeping? Will we ever see her again?” Owen asked all kinds of questions.
Liam was such a philosopher, helping
answer Owen’s questions and explaining to his little brother that we will see
her in heaven and in our dreams.
Little kids are still so close to “the
source” that they can sometimes explain humanity, living, dying, the unknown and spirituality so much easier than us “older”
people.
He then proceeded to tell us how Nana
“let go of the grass,” and that she would be OK in her new journey. Mouth agape, I looked at him.
"What does that mean,” I asked him, thinking it was a very deep and profound
thing for my little boy to say.
He shared with us that he had read a
book in the library at school by Patricia Polacco called “Thank you, Mr. Falker,” (which
I will be buying, by the way). When the grandma in the story dies, she
“lets go of the grass” and floats up to heaven.
I loved it. Owen loved it. Paul loved
it. It was comforting. Here is to all those who have let go of the grass – hope you are where the lights are shining.
Trisha's grandma used to say
that the stars were holes in the sky. They were the light of heaven coming from
the other side. And she used to say that someday she would be on the other side,
where the light comes from.
One evening they lay on the
grass together and counted the lights from heaven. "You know," her
grandma said, "all of us will go there someday. Hang on to the grass, or
you'll lift right off the ground, and there you'll be!"
They laughed, and both hung on
to the grass.
But it was not long after that
night that her grandma must have let go of the grass, because she went to where
the lights were, on the other side. And not long after that, Trisha's grandpa
let go of the grass, too.
