Lelu's Heaven

It was a rough week for a 7-year-old. Lots of yelling and drama from the adults in her world. Loved ones moving in, moving out of her life. Her living room furniture disappearing. Doors slamming. Flashing back. So the fear monster may have slipped in the door during that chaos. It was certainly fed by a screening of Twilight and an introduction to vampires. This time, fear was named death.

He’d been visiting her in her dreams earlier this week—prompting her to wake up in the all-too-early hours of the dark morning, screaming with inconsolable panic. And somehow he showed up again in the car with us Friday evening, on the way to a Christmas play. One minute we were laughing and talking, and the next her little brother mentioned something about dying.

“I get kind of scared thinking about being in that box that goes in the ground when I die,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m afraid of those bugs that eat you.”

Her brother—all of five, and all-boy—started talking about bugs.

“Can we talk about something else? My tummy is starting to hurt,” she said. Then she was crying. Sobbing. “I think I need to go back home,” she said.

“It’s okay,” we said. “Let’s talk about something that makes you happy.” We tried to talk about what they wanted for Christmas, the pretty Christmas lights we drove by and where they wanted to eat dinner. It wasn’t working.

“But I’m afraid I’ll feel the bugs eating me when I die,” She cried louder. “How long do you have to be in the box in the ground before you can go to heaven?”

“As soon as you die, you’ll open your eyes and you’ll be heaven,” I said. “And you’ll be an angel … at the biggest, most wonderful party you’ve ever imagined. People will be running up to you and saying …Hurray! She’s here! And God will hug you with the biggest hug you’ve ever had.”

“You mean your soul doesn’t stay in the box?” She asks.

“No. It’s like magic. You are in heaven instantly.” I say. “Quicker than a blink.”

”But sometimes little kids die. They get cancer or they have a heart attack,” she says.

"Yes, but then they are in heaven and there is no pain in heaven. Only happiness,” I say. ”It is more beautiful than anything you can imagine. It’s sunny and warm. And when you arrive, everyone lines up to hug you. Everyone is saying, “Oh … I LOVE you! I love you! I love you!” And you can do anything you want to do. You can eat all your favorite foods or play your favorite games or play with kittens and bunnies. Everyone is so happy. You can go sit on God’s lap and talk to him about all the cool things you love about earth. You can say, 'I just love that you made raspberries and oceans and pizza. And I love sunsets—they are so pretty! And He might say, 'Me too! Let’s go watch the sunset over the ocean! You grab the raspberries to snack on!' "

“What about the mean people who fight? They will be in heaven.” She said, her little brow furrowing.

“Remember, when you get there, everyone is hugging you like this (hugs J) and saying ‘I love you! I love you!’ So everyone is happy. Nobody wants to fight when you are being hugged and loved.”

“Sometimes me and my brother fight,” she says. “Will God be mad?”

“No. God doesn’t care. He knows we are human. Things are way different here than they are in heaven. He just loves you so much.” I say.

And so the conversation continues the rest of the night. “Are there snakes in heaven?” Her brother asks.

“Yes, but they don’t bite,” she answers with authority, “because they aren’t mean snakes. And you can’t feel any pain.”

“Well, then, I want one of those snakes,” he says.

“Papa, do you miss your Mommy?” She asks Tom on the way home.

“Yes, I do.” He says quietly. My heart breaks a little for the second time tonight.

“But that’s okay,” She says, her voice breaking again, “When you die you can go to heaven and see her.” She is trying to sound cheerful though her voice is breaking again. She is trying to convince him. Trying to reassure herself. Trying not to panic at the idea of her world without her Papa.

"Remember … you can do anything you want in heaven,” I remind them. “Do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to dance like a ballerina. I’m going to put on toe shoes, a tutu and a tiara and do pirouettes. Then I’m going to find a huge field of lavender flowers—because I love the way they smell. And I’ll look all around and all I will see is a field of purple flowers and some green from the leaves. Then, I’m going to lay down and make angels—like you do in the snow—only it’ll be imprinted in the field of lavender.”

”How will you do that?” She asks.

“I’ll move my arms up and down.” I say.

”But you’ll have wings!” she reminds me.

“You’re right. So, maybe I’ll just leave the imprint from my wings.” I say.

“Can I play baseball?” he asks.

“Of course! You can even play with the greatest baseball players of all time … like Babe Ruth! And you can run the bases--or you can fly!” I tell him.

”I’m going to run and run and run some more! Then I’m going to eat something.” He says. And we laugh.

”You can be whatever you want in heaven,” she says again.

”That’s right! Maybe you can even morph into things,” I say. “You could say … 'I feel like an elephant today—and suddenly you are an elephant and you pick up some water with your trunk and spray your friends. And they say, ‘Oh, no, you didn’t!’ and they turn into elephants and you are all spraying each other with water from the lake you are standing in!” Everyone is laughing.

“I’m so glad you told me about your soul going right to heaven,” she says repeatedly throughout the night. “I don’t feel so sad anymore.” Her relief is palpable.

We drop them off at home. I watch her little self run up the steps and into the apartment. And I pray that monster is gone.