"Will you help me write my will?" Joseph asked me Monday night as we prepared to have Family Home Evening. He had forgotten to take his medication that morning so the question didn't surprise me. Obsession with death is one of his OCD tendencies.
"Sure," I answered nonchalantly - best not to act surprised by such things, "but why do you need to?"
"I might die tonight," he answered.
"You might," I answered back, "but you probably won't. You have too many important things to still do here on Earth."
He was clutching three of his stuffed animals, his puppies, Patches, Patchie, and Cutie, and had them wrapped in the blanket he got from his birth mother. "I just want to make sure that my animals are taken care of," he reported.
"Oh."
"When I die, can you put Patches on top of my casket? [Patches was his very first stuffed animal, and is his most beloved.
"Sure," I said, "but a strong wind might blow him around, or a hawk might come and carry him off."
"Oh no," he lamented, "I don't want a hawk to get him! Can you put him in the casket with me, snuggled up on my shoulder?"
"Yes, of course."
"And when I get resurrected will he still be there?" he wondered.
"Well," I answered, "he would be decomposed by then." [We don't mince any words around here]. Joseph looked at me horrified.
"Joseph," I reminded him, "you can't take Patches with you when you die . . ."
"I know, I know," he interrupted, "just my family and my memories."
"That's right," I added.
"But I'll miss him!" he lamented.
"I know," I assured, and then, "but guess what? When you're a Heavenly Father, and you get to create, I bet you'll create a real dog, just like Patches. And you won't be allergic anymore, so he'll be able to stay with you."
That did it. Hope had returned. "And Cutie, and Patchie too?" he asked.
"Yes, son, even them!"
(left to right: Patches, Cutie & Patchie)
"Will you help me write my will?" Joseph asked me Monday night as we prepared to have Family Home Evening. He had forgotten to take his medication that morning so the question didn't surprise me. Obsession with death is one of his OCD tendencies.
"Sure," I answered nonchalantly - best not to act surprised by such things, "but why do you need to?"
"I might die tonight," he answered.
"You might," I answered back, "but you probably won't. You have too many important things to still do here on Earth."
He was clutching three of his stuffed animals, his puppies, Patches, Patchie, and Cutie, and had them wrapped in the blanket he got from his birth mother. "I just want to make sure that my animals are taken care of," he reported.
"Oh."
"When I die, can you put Patches on top of my casket? [Patches was his very first stuffed animal, and is his most beloved.
"Sure," I said, "but a strong wind might blow him around, or a hawk might come and carry him off."
"Oh no," he lamented, "I don't want a hawk to get him! Can you put him in the casket with me, snuggled up on my shoulder?"
"Yes, of course."
"And when I get resurrected will he still be there?" he wondered.
"Well," I answered, "he would be decomposed by then." [We don't mince any words around here]. Joseph looked at me horrified.
"Joseph," I reminded him, "you can't take Patches with you when you die . . ."
"I know, I know," he interrupted, "just my family and my memories."
"That's right," I added.
"But I'll miss him!" he lamented.
"I know," I assured, and then, "but guess what? When you're a Heavenly Father, and you get to create, I bet you'll create a real dog, just like Patches. And you won't be allergic anymore, so he'll be able to stay with you."
That did it. Hope had returned. "And Cutie, and Patchie too?" he asked.
"Yes, son, even them!"
(left to right: Patches, Cutie & Patchie)
2 comments:
You made me cry. Motherhood is not for wimps.
I love how you are with your kids. Such a great teaching tool. I love how kids use their minds too. You have great patience...I hope I have that when I have my own kids.
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