Several weeks ago, an elderly parishioner died. She was a lovely lady, and I am friends with her daughter. Since I am the Altar Guild Directress at our parish, it was my great honor to do the preparations for funeral mass.
McKid was staying with us for awhile, and she was going to have to attend the funeral with me. I thought it best to do a little explaining beforehand, in hopes of short-circuiting some of the queries that would arise during the funeral. And arise in a VERY LOUD VOICE. Those of you with three year olds know what I am talking about.
So we talked about my friend's mother and what had happened. We talked about where she was now--her body was in the casket, but her soul was headed toward Jesus. That we were sad, and she would see people cry, because we would miss Florence. But that we lived in hope that one day we would see her again. Nope, she's not coming here. We're going there.
And on, and on, and on.
Things went well at the funeral. After communion, we just had one little slip--the McKid hopped down from the Altar rail, took a look at the casket and piped up: "Is our dead lady in there?" Fortunately, smiles from the family--Florence was great-grandmother to about 27 kids, and would have understood.
I thought the case was closed, and all forgotten.
Last week McKid's mom called, laughing and laughing. "You made more of an impression than you knew! Somehow, someone dying came up in conversation, and here comes McKid, barrelling in: 'Our sweet lady died. She's with Jesus. When we die, we'll get our dead lady back.'"
Well, not exactly catechism material, but close.