out to him. “No, Aunt Wose!”
“Okay buddy, okay, look,” I said as I set the fish gently in the water and it began to thrash wildly. “He’s still alive.” I looked at a clearly distraught Grant, who nervously watched the water. Was a two-year-old even capable of grasping the concept? After several moments of studying my nephew as he watched the water, I took him into my lap.
“Grant, what does it mean to die?”
“You go way up high,” he said as he pushed his arms into the air, “to heaben.”
My question seemed to upset him more, and I pulled him closer to me to console him. “Buddy, it’s okay,” I said, noting the time and wondering if he needed a nap.
“I don’t want to kill the fishes,” he started again, and I couldn’t help the small amount of heartbreak I felt for him at the empathy he felt. Grant apparently didn’t like needless suffering. I wondered where he’d gotten it from. His heart, though it had a lifetime of aches and pains to get through, was already so beautiful in that he cared so much.
“Baby, what in the world,” I said as he sobbed into my chest.
“I don’t want them to be died.”
“You saw me put him back, baby blue. He’s okay, I promise.”
“Grant died. I don’t want to be died, too.”
And there it was. A full explanation of why my nephew was suddenly terrified of death.
“Who told you Grant died?”
“I heard Mommy say it to Daddy. Is Annabelle going to be died, too?”
Grant looked up at me with a quivering lip, and though I wanted to erase the worry from him, I felt I owed him the truth, even if in the smallest dose. It was apparent I had to do damage control for my sister who I knew deep down hadn’t meant for little ears to hear her conversation.
“Everyone dies, baby, every single thing dies, but you have a long, long, long, long, lonnnnnnng time before that happens, okay?”
“I don’t want to,” Grant protested. Realization struck me as I looked down at my fearful nephew and decided to break the cycle. I too had been afraid of death for far too long.
“Don’t you want to go to heaven?” I said, kissing his sweet, full cheek and wiping his face.
“No,” he protested.
“Oh, buddy, it’s the best place to go. You know there are angels there that sing to you.” Grant lay in my arms, sucking in shattered breaths as I soothed his back with my hands and explained to him what I thought heaven might be like. He was asleep in minutes as I looked over the pond and stroked his back.
My biggest fear was an inevitable fate we would all see. Death was the only real certainty in life, and I’d let my brush with it cripple me to the point of being afraid to fully live. It didn’t matter how hard I’d try to escape it or to protect those around me from it. I would eventually lose them all. My parents, who meant more to me than anyone, would perish in my lifetime. The gravity of that alone had me slightly reeling. Who was I to think I could escape it? I was created to try to heal those preventable hurts, but it was only by design and not my own. Did I believe in God and heaven after death? I looked down at my sleeping nephew and decided then that I did. I didn’t want to be a part of the bigger picture if it didn’t include a sanctuary for those I loved the most after life. I had to believe Grant had a home elsewhere and lived in the tranquility of that home. That his gentle soul dwelled in a beautiful place I couldn’t see, and it was full of joy. I had to believe that the beautiful baby in my arms truly had nothing to be afraid of. It was a decision to believe, just like it was a decision not to be afraid of inevitable death.
And as the wind picked up and I held Grant closer to me than ever, the unthinkable happened. I embraced the idea fully and with renewed certainty.
“Grant, if you can hear me, I love you. I’ll always miss you. I’ll always wish you were here,” I said as a few solid tears trickled down my cheeks. “I’m so thankful,” I said as my chest burned. “I’m so thankful to have known you, to have loved you. God,