I’m listening to Caleb wailing. The news sunk in. A half hour an ago I told him that his Great-Grandma died peacefully in her sleep.
With the news that she was in Heaven, Alex hugged me, lingering for several seconds, then fought back tears and walked to his room. Then I heard him playing, “Hot Cross Buns” on his recorder.
What I didn’t know–not until I googled it–is that making hot cross buns is a Good Friday tradition. How coincidental, providential, and incidental. I know my words contradict themselves but I mean all of them.
As I finish typing this, I hear the sound of an audio story coming from Caleb’s room. There is no more wailing. The darkness of Good Friday turns into the joy of Easter and the promise of eternal life for believers.
Earlier this week, Mary wanted to make a card for her Great-Grandma. She wanted to say,
“I hope you get well soon.”
I told her that Grandma wasn’t going to get well, that she was dying, that she would soon go to Heaven. She gave me a hug, let out a loud sigh, and said, “Mom, I want to make her a card.”
I asked her if she’d like to say, “I hope you feel better soon.” She agreed and carefully copied all the words I had written out for her. This was the first time she had written anything other than her name.
This morning, I told Mary that Grandma was all better now, that she had died in her sleep and she was in heaven.
“Like Abby?” she asked.
Yes, like Abby.