This morning, my husband took Reece on a bike ride. We have a bike seat attached to the front of one of his old racing bikes and Reece loves riding up there, honking his horn at everyone.
When they came back, I asked him how his their ride was. “Good,” he said, still sporting his helmet. “We went to heaven.”
“To heaven?” I asked for clarification, trying to figure out what he could possibly mean by that.
“Yeah, to heaven. But Jesus wasn’t there, he was underground.”
Since I couldn’t figure this out on my own, I repeated the conversation back to Doug, who laughed and explained that they had ridden around the nearby cemetery. When Reece had asked about where they were, he just said that they were riding around where people go when they die. Heaven, my son’s mind interpreted, without saying as much to Doug.
“Where’s Jesus?” he had asked after that, to which Doug responded, “Around.” Underground.
Starting about now on the East Coast is a celebration of my cousin’s life that ended too soon earlier last week. I would like to be there celebrating and remembering with everyone, but the details of the trip were too much for me to work out. So here from my home, I remember her. Her joyful smile, bubbly personality, the peaceful way she communicated with her daughters, how easily she bestowed genuine compliments on others…I have so much to learn from her. I think of the husband and daughters she left behind with great sadness, but there is so much to celebrate about the life she led and my heart will be with them tonight.