My grandmother passed last Saturday, this is a poem she wrote about five years ago.
My sweet seven-year old granddaughterconfided to me that
she is afraid of dying.
She's definitely suspicious of Heaven
being a good alternative to Earth.
Will we have a body? We can't
take our real one with us.
Or will the big box we're in go too?
Do we take clothes to wear with us?
And what about the people in urns?
I counseled her that we will have a body,
but it will be a spiritual body.
We will know each other, and added that
I was looking forward to seeing
my mom and dad, and her Grampa Irv,
there already, as well as my brother
and many of my dearest friends.
We will have a joyous reunion.
I assured her that, as a young person,
she would not be going there
for a long, long, long time.
The she has important work
to do on the Earth first. She had
no what-do-you-eat-in-Heaven
questions; ones so worrisome
to my own kids.
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