Dead Bodies
Inspired by Mrs. Kennedy's recent post, here's a story from years ago, about 7 years ago, actually. I can't remember if I have told this story before...
Before Z was born there was only W.
Everyday during the week W and I had the same routine: I drove him to the babysitter in the morning, I'd go to work, and pick him up in the afternoon. We passed by a small funeral home on the way, and out in front were the sample headstones displayed. He used to ask me what they were, and I would answer, those are headstones, for graves. He seemed to accept this until one day he wanted to know if anyone was buried there. No, I said. Those are just examples. No one is buried there.
W - Why isn't anyone buried there?
Me - Because it's not a graveyard. It's like a headstone store.
W - Can we go to the graveyard?
Me - Why do you want to go to the graveyard?
W - So we can see the people buried there.
Me - Honey, you can't see the people. They are buried, they are in coffins, buried way down under the grass and dirt.
W - Yeah, but only their bodies are buried...
Me - Yes (oh, my son is brilliant) only their bodies not their spi-....
W - ...because their arms and their legs and head and everything have been plucked off.
Me - ...-rits.....??
W - (continues) Then, when they get to heaven God puts them back together again.
Me - Mmm. That sounds right honey.
W - Can we go to the graveyard now?
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We eventually visited a graveyard one Saturday afternoon. It was a small country cemetery with old stones, some so old you couldn't read the inscription any longer. W wanted me to read all the names, go up and down each of the rows.
Before Z was born there was only W.
Everyday during the week W and I had the same routine: I drove him to the babysitter in the morning, I'd go to work, and pick him up in the afternoon. We passed by a small funeral home on the way, and out in front were the sample headstones displayed. He used to ask me what they were, and I would answer, those are headstones, for graves. He seemed to accept this until one day he wanted to know if anyone was buried there. No, I said. Those are just examples. No one is buried there.
W - Why isn't anyone buried there?
Me - Because it's not a graveyard. It's like a headstone store.
W - Can we go to the graveyard?
Me - Why do you want to go to the graveyard?
W - So we can see the people buried there.
Me - Honey, you can't see the people. They are buried, they are in coffins, buried way down under the grass and dirt.
W - Yeah, but only their bodies are buried...
Me - Yes (oh, my son is brilliant) only their bodies not their spi-....
W - ...because their arms and their legs and head and everything have been plucked off.
Me - ...-rits.....??
W - (continues) Then, when they get to heaven God puts them back together again.
Me - Mmm. That sounds right honey.
W - Can we go to the graveyard now?
--------- - - - - ---------- - - - - ---------- - - - - - - -
We eventually visited a graveyard one Saturday afternoon. It was a small country cemetery with old stones, some so old you couldn't read the inscription any longer. W wanted me to read all the names, go up and down each of the rows.
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