My sweet son, just out of the bath, hooded towel over his head, his arms wrapped tightly to his body, paused.
“Mommy?” He asked as he turned the doorknob of his bedroom.
“Can anything come back from Heaven?” He asked inquisitively.
I looked at him for a split second, panicked and replied, “No, honey.”
“Not even an angel?” He asked hopefully.
I asked him to get his pajamas on and then we’d talk about it.
In the time he put on his pajamas on, which, depending on the day, can take anywhere from 5 minutes to an hour, I would have to figure out what to tell him.
I already said no, but he would absolutely need an explanation. This kid questions everything. On harder days, I’d say he argues with every statement or request made, but on better days, when I’m patient and he’s happy, I’d say he asks a lot of questions because his little brain is on overdrive and he wants to know everything about anything. And that quality will be advantageous to him later in life.
He came out about ten minutes later and I had turned on a movie I knew he liked, and he sat and watched, completely immersed. When the next commercial came on, I hit pause.
“Do you want to talk about Heaven now?” I asked.
Of course he did. I explained that Heaven is where people go when they die. I told him that I believe our loved ones in Heaven watch over us and help us to see thing we might otherwise miss.
“Like when Milo tells the cardinals to fly into our backyard so we know he’s watching us!” He exclaimed.
“Exactly,” I said.