A matter of life and death

Jude is quite the little thinker.  We were in the kitchen recently baking Pizelle (again) and he wanted to talk about dying. 

I think he first learned about dying when he was being prepared by his parents for his great grandmother's funeral last summer.  At the time, he was not quite 3 years old.  I remember the day of her service so clearly.  Jude's great grandmother was my mother-in-law, a woman I had learned to love, respect, and appreciate;  Ben was going to eulogize her and he's such a wonderful speaker, I wanted to be there with him;  Jude did not respond well to the scene in the funeral home, so I kept him with me in the very last row of the chapel. When Ben got up to speak, Jude escaped my grip and ran up the center aisle, DADDY!  Ben, the consumate teacher, handled the situation beautifully.  And this is Jude, my Oma's great grandson.  I'm glad you came up here, Jude.  Jude was then escorted OUT by his mother before he could take over the microphone.

Anyway, I digress.

Our recent conversation in the kitchen, nearly six months later, was not a matter of life and death.  It was much more important than that.



Jude:  Nini, what happens right before you die? 

Me:  Well, first of all, dying is not a bad thing, Jude, everybody gets to do it.  And the BEST way to die is after you've lived a nice long life and have lots of stories to tell.  You want to live a good life, too, so you don't feel bad about anything when you die.

Jude:  Oh.  But why do you die? 

Me:  Well, it's because your body wears out.  Like some of your toys that get old and don't work anymore. 

Jude:  Oh. 

Me:  Do you think you will come to visit me when I get old?

Jude:  It might not be a Nini-day on the day you get old.  But maybe Brady can come. 

Me:  Ok. 

Jude:  I want to die on the same day you die, Nini. 

Me:  That would be perfect, Jude, because I don't think I could live without you.