Let me offer my sincerest apologies for the shitshow train wreck that was yesterday morning’s blog post. I knew it was bad when, upon arriving at Dunkin’ Donuts for my requisite morning latte, I received three texts inquiring as to my well-being. I’m fiiiine, and I’m truly sorry if my bad poetry permanently scarred you. Seriously.
Here’s your Sunday-morning theology:
“Mommy, what happens when you die?” the Kaiser asks from the backseat, pulling at his shoelace.
Ah, here we fucking go again.
“Well, I mean, people think different things, Cole. What do you think happens when we die?”
He looks out the window. “We stop eating and our eyes close and our face gets sad.”
“What else, Cole?” I glance in the backseat.
“Mommy, I don’t ever want to die. Who doesn’t die?”
“Errrrr…” I unscrew the cap on my Diet Coke.
“God doesn’t die, Mommy. Jesus. Did Jesus die?”
“Well, yeah. Jesus was a man. He died.”
“What happened to him then, Mommy?”
“I think his spirit probably went to God.”
“How? Did he turn into a skeleton? What’s a spirit?”
I have no idea, man. I have NO idea.
“Spirit is like soul. It’s how you love, the part inside that loves and thinks and feels.”
I shake my head. Christ.
“I don’t want my spirit to go to God.”
“OK, love. That’s alright. You don’t have to worry about this now.”
“Is my spirit going to go to God, Mommy?”
“Oh, Cole. Please stop worrying about dying, man. This is morbid.”
“Mom. How ‘bout my teeth can go to God?”
“That sounds like a plan.” I smile and turn up the music.