My son is worried about dying.  He doesn't want to miss anything.  He wonders if when you're dead you still see people.  He'd want to see his sister.  He doesn't want to stop seeing things.  He wants to know if there is a heaven and if there is will he go there?  He wants to know if when we die, we turn into something else.  What's a soul?  How does it feel to die?  Do you still sleep in heaven?  Do they have computers there?

Holy shit.  Tonight I handled all these questions solo while my husband was at a Dodger's game.  I held my sweet son and kissed his sweaty head and tried to come up with explanations or theories or at least a good yarn.  After a while I realized that pretty much every other sentence began with "well, some people believe..."  I started to think about what I believe.

I believe in the soul.  I believe that the when we lose people, they are still with us in some way that is bigger than memory.  I believe that my Dad looks in on me from time to time.  While I don't really know about a heaven full of angels, I do like to think of all the people I have lost together somewhere, strangers at first, but slowly discovering each in the other some common thread.  I like to think that in this place my Dad finally had a beer with John Wayne and Roy Rogers and Jimmy Stewart.  

I tried to explain death to Theo, but I couldn't say it won't happen.  We have a long, long time together, I said.  He wondered if his pediatrician could invent a medicine that would stop him from aging.  He'd like to stay six forever.  I promised him that seven would be just as good --that there would wonderful things in every year and then I curled up around him and let him fall asleep in my arms because in the end, my love is the only thing I know for sure.