An Honest Answer

Children have a way of making the most complicated, why-does-this-happen thinking, into something  innocent, simple and honest.
Yesterday, Mr. R and I drove the girls half way down our state, to see Mr. R’s grandfather. He was diagnosed with esophagus cancer a couple of years ago. He went into remission not once, but twice. It has since come back with a vengeance. His wife, “Grandma Loretta” called us to say that “Grandaddy Ben” has been asking to see the girls one last time. So the girls he saw. 
After removing the feeding tube, and hospice care coming to make him more comfortable, he had spent the past several days in bed. Once his great grand daughters arrived, he asked to sit in his wheelchair so he could come out and see them. It was the first time out of bed in days, we were told. He wanted to pose for photos with his girls, asked Britton about horse back riding and asked Mr. R how many deer he ‘took down’ this past season.
After a while, he excused himself to go lie down in his bed. He asked if we would come in his room so he could continue to visit. He patted the bed, and told B to come sit next to him.
And they held hands. He is hard of hearing, so there wasn’t a lot of conversation amongst the two. But he seem to rather enjoy having Miss B beside him.

At one point, he said to Britton, “I think your Grandaddy is going to die. Do you know what it means to die?”

Naturally as a Mom trying to protect her children from the heartaches of life, I panic. I hadn’t read that chapter of the parenting handbook that some wise mom wrote. What should I do? Should I answer for her? Distract her? Paint a happy picture?

And just as if she were telling him something as matter as fact as the sky is blue, she looked him straight in the eye and explained, “It means you are going to live with Jesus.”

Such a simple, innocent, and honest answer.

And spot on.

Britton then assured her great grandfather that he would also see her Daddy Boone- which is my father. She told him that he lives in heaven so he will know someone.

Why is it that a 7 year old can handle a sorrowful and uncomfortable situation better than most adults? A little messenger of God she was.

Meanwhile, K was kept distracted by Mr. R’s Aunt Mary who instructed her on how to play an organ. She has now perfected her rendition of chop sticks.

Please keep Mr. R’s grandparents in your prayers.