"The Next Step"

Being a parent means either facing some of your biggest fears, or unapologetically sidestepping them by blatantly lying to your precious child.
"MacKenzie, you may not leave the table until you try everything on your plate. That includes the feta cheese."
"But it looks di-guting. You can have it."
Hell no. Feta cheese is nasty. But do I say that? I do not. I say,"I already ate mine and it was delicious and I'm full."
Or -
"Come on MacKenzie, it's time to go to the dentist!!!"
"I don't like it. The gloves taste di-guting and they are gonna poke me in the teeth with the metal thing and it's gonna hurt."
"No it's not!! It's going to tickle and feel like butterflies in your mouth."
And you couldn't pay me a million dollars to let them to that to me without the involvement of a Xanax.

You may be thinking...what's wrong with you, Meg?? (And you would have to get in the back of a very long line of people pondering that very issue.) You may say, just tell the kid the truth and deal with it.
To you I would say, you know what? You have an excellent point. I thank you for your valuable insight and advice. Now go away.
Do I take the easy way out sometimes? (Ahem, a lot of time?) Yes. Sometimes it's a time issue...little Miss Mini Barbara Walters can ask follow up questions for hours. Sometimes it's to protect her, from pain and reality just a little longer. And sometimes, it's to protect me. From either facing that same reality, or the reality that I just might not have all the answers.


Recently we lost MacKenzie's beautiful great-grandmother Mimi, the epitome of southern grace and hospitality, and a true matriarch. Death has always been something that has illicited flat-out panic attacks in me. I go to church, and have faith in most of what's taught and believed. But I get paralyzed by fear when I think of the unknown and finality of that "next step."
When we knew that Mimi's time was coming closer, I obsessed over what to tell MacKenzie. Do I tell her what I have always been taught, through the church and my parents' unshakable faith? Do I tell her MY truth, that I don't know what happens? Do I talk about it strictly from a biological standpoint? When we went to visit Mimi in the hospital, and against a lot of advice, I took MacKenzie with us. We stood in her doorway, as she lay in a coma, and I told MacKenzie that she could say hello, or good-bye, and that she loved her.
"Hmm. She looks pretty tired."
"She is. But soon she won't be tired or sick anymore. Soon she'll be in a place where she won't be in any pain, and will be happy."
"...is she going to Wal-Mart?"
For the love. "No, baby, she's going to go to heaven."
"Oh. Okay. Bye Mimi, I love you! Have fun!"
And she really seemed okay with everything, and needed no further explanations. Maybe this wasn't going to be so hard.

And then this week, we faced the loss of MacKenzie's amazing great-grandfather Papa; he was full of love, intelligence, dry humor, and constantly had his signature smile. The service is tomorrow, and is graveside, and once again I am facing my paralyzing panic. This time, though, there was no sidestepping. I came up with several scenarios and different conversations, but wasn't happy with how any of them progressed in my head. I decided to step out of my comfort zone and just wing it.
Poor poor decision.
"MacKenzie. Remember how Papa was really sick? Well, yesterday he died, and went to heaven, like Mimi did. So we are going to Lynchburg, to a special place, to say goodbye to him."
"Hmm. How long will he be there?"
"Forever. Once you move to heaven, that's where you live forever."
"How did he get there? That's pretty high up."
Shit. "An angel took him."
"...no. I don't fink so. Papa was pretty big."
"Angels are really strong."
"No, I don't fink so. What do they do if the angel's not strong enough to carry him?"
"...well, then...they use the...heaven car." Shitshitshit.
"Is it a big car? So when you and me go to heaven we can ride together?"
Oh my baby girl. "God's not going to want us up there for quite a while. He has stuff for us to do here, on Earth. He'd rather mostly take people that are older, or really sick, to help them feel better, and to help him watch over all of us. But the awesome thing about heaven is if you ever want to talk to anyone up there, all you have to do is talk, and wherever you are they will hear you."
"Do they talk back?"
"They do, but most of the time the clouds get in the way."(mini shit)."But they will always listen, and will watch over you, and love you."
"Maybe we should get a special telephone, so we don't talk to the wrong heaven people. I bet Taw-get has one."
".......................you know what? Yes. We will go to Target - or the Salvation Army - and buy a special heaven phone." And Mommy several bottles of wine."Now. About the special place in Lynchburg. Even though people are happy that Papa is in heaven now, they're also sad because they won't get to see him anymore. So people may be crying, and that's okay."
"It's okay, Mommy. I will tell the crying people that he is happy now, and is watching dem. Maybe I will let dem use my telephone."
*waterworks*
"Hey Mommy, if I see people crying, I will cheer dem up with my funny yokes. Maybe I will tell dem the one about da elephant and da naked guy."
SHIIIIT. "Umm...that's one idea. Maybe you could just give them a hug and say you love them."
"No. I tell dem my knockknock yokes too."
Okay. That's...an idea.

Tomorrow we say goodbye to an amazing man. And though our conversation had highs and lows (I think we'd all agree that the heaven car was a low), my child is comforted, and comfortable, with Papa taking "the next step." Also, in facing her unwavering certainty and faith, I find myself rising up to meet her, and re-examining what I had previously categorized as truths and sidesteps. Maybe in sidestepping, we actually find the most direct route to our fears, and the power to face them.