Burying the Dead

Last week, during one of our daily errand runs, the kiddies brought up the subject of our dear, departed Sammy the Cat.

"Mom?"  Ab asked. "Just where is he?"

"Well, you know he is in heaven.  Being fat and lazy and happy, and probably eating tuna fish." I was pleased with the pleasant picture that I had created.

Ab wasn't satisfied, however.  "I know he's in heaven mom.  But, where is his body?" 

"Oh!"  I replied.  Naturally, as an almost eight year old, she would understand the difference between a soul and a body, but I hadn't given a thought to discussing it with her.  "Well, we had Sammy buried in a pet cemetery out in the country."

Noticeably relieved, Ab replied, "Oh!  Good.  I just didn't want him to be in our backyard."

I was quiet.  I got it.  There is just a certain ick factor to knowing that your pet is buried near your playhouse, and that is why hubby and I opted for the pet cemetery.

We cruised along a bit until Ethan piped up from the back seat.

"Mom.  I am going to bury Pap Pap," he declared.

Still thinking about the Sammy conversation, Abbie and I both exclaimed, "What?!"

I was a little softer.  "E?  What are you talking about burying Pap Pap?

Ab got right to the point.  "E!  He isn't dead!  Why would you bury him?"

Completely unruffled Ethan replied, "I know he didn't die.  I want to bury him when we go to the beach next week!"

So, while Ab and I were reflecting on Sammy, E was thinking of digging in the sand, and apparently, burying my father, who he knew would be game for the adventure.

After sighs of relief and a few giggles at our silliness, I said to E, "Yes Ethan.  You can probably bury Pap Pap at the beach next week."

It was quiet once again until Ethan broke the silence with the question, "Can I bury his head too?"

Boys.

I still can't explain them.