Letters to Death: First Letter

Dear Death,

I’m five years old now and you just took my Grandpa away.

I know he’s in Heaven now, or that’s what Mommy told me and that means he gets to be with Jesus and all the angels. They put his body in a big wooden box in this stuffy room that was too warm and had too many flowers in it. And a lot of people I didn’t know came and stood around and talked. And every once in a while one of them would come up to Mommy and Daddy and Grandma and say how sorry they were for our loss.

Which I thought it was funny because if Grandpa’s in Heaven then wouldn’t they be happy because he got to go there and now he’s gonna be happy forever and never ever hurt again? But I guess they’re big and grown-up and understand these things better than I do, I dunno.

And Grandpa was there in the box even though he wasn’t moving and he looked all waxy. When Mommy was driving me to the stuffy flower room she told me that even though he was there he wasn’t really there because he was gone. And I asked her when Grandpa would be back and she got real quiet.

She got real quiet for a real long time.

Then she said, “You’ll see Grandpa again in Heaven. After this life’s gone by.”

Mommy said Daddy was waiting in the stuffy warm flower room. She said I shouldn’t ask too many questions about where Grandpa went while Daddy’s around. She said, “Just remember Grandpa was Daddy’s Daddy.”

“You mean Daddy doesn’t have a Daddy anymore?”

She got quiet again and sniffed. Then she said, “We’ll all see each other again in Heaven. You’ll see. Once this world is gone.”

And I had a lot more questions and I didn’t understand what was going on and I didn’t know what she meant about this life passing away and this world being gone but I couldn’t ask. Because Daddy didn’t have a Daddy anymore and there were people saying they were sorry for our loss even though Grandpa was in Heaven and we would all see each other again someday.

And also because people kept coming up to me and saying “Look how much you’ve grown! I’ve known you since you were this big.” Even though I didn’t know who any of them were and they all said the same thing but I tried to be a good polite boy and act like I knew them. And most of the time I didn’t roll my eyes when they said “this big” in just the same tone of voice as everybody else even though I wanted to every time they said it.

Then the next day they took the box where Grandpa was and wasn’t and put it at the front of the church, and the priest was there while they got ready to close the lid.

And then…

And then Daddy went up and knelt by the side of the box and he was looking down at Grandpa’s waxy face. And he started crying. He started crying like the time when I scraped my knee and Mommy poured the smelly water on it, to “disinfect it,” she said, and it burned so bad I started crying. And that’s how Daddy cried when they closed the lid on the box.

I didn’t know Daddy could cry.

I guess Daddy really doesn’t have a Daddy anymore.

But we’ll all be together again… won’t we?

I don’t know much about you, Death. But you took Grandpa away until this life is over, and you made Daddy cry. I don’t know why you do these things. Are you a person? Why did you make Daddy cry? Why does everybody act sad when you come even though they say they should be happy because Grandpa’s in Heaven now?

Mommy told me everybody dies. I asked her if that means one day she’ll die, and Daddy will die, and Grandma will die, and everybody I know will die, and I will die. And she said yes, “But we’ll all see each other again.”

I try to imagine what it will be like to die.

It’s hard.

Maybe it’s like when you’re falling asleep and then for a second you’re dreaming that you’re falling from the top of a tree and then your whole body jerks and you’re back awake and in your bed.

Maybe.

Anyway, the priest did mass and talked about Grandpa for a while. Then Daddy and Uncle Evan and Uncle Tom and a few other men I didn’t know carried the box out of the church. They put it in a special car that was real big at the back, and I got in Mommy’s car with her.

We went to the place where the bodies get planted in the ground and there was a big rectangle hole already dug for Grandpa. And they put the box in the hole, and the priest said a few more words, and the men with shovels started covering up the box.

And Daddy wasn’t crying like before. Not all sobby and puffy. But he did have tears running down his cheeks.

I don’t understand you, Death. I have so many questions for you.

I’ll talk to you again.

Love,

Jack