My friend’s 5-year-old has been asking her mother a lot of questions about heaven, not an unusual line of inquiry for children trying to figure out how the world works. If adults wrestle with the concept of an ever after, imagine then how perplexing that mystery might be to little ones.
“Will I have the same family?” she asks.
“How will I find you when I get there? Is there a lineup? Will you wait for me in the front?”
And the clincher: “Will I get to take my toys?”
Those questions reminded me of a time when my youngest son was full of a similar curiosity about heaven and death and the meaning of life. In fact, he was about the same age as my friend’s little girl when my grandfather died, and he was trying to make sense of the whole ordeal.
I remember one particular conversation on what would have been his great-grandfather’s birthday, as he was mulling over what age Grandpa would be now. After some back and forth, I explained (in more kid-friendly terms) that age is a terrestrial concept and that, as I understood it, people didn’t really get older after they got to heaven. That threw him for a loop.
“No birthday parties in heaven?” he wondered, visibly disappointed at the notion.
No, I don’t think there are.
That didn’t go over well and he was a little upset. We had celebrated Grandpa’s birthday every year since he moved into the villa in St. Peter’s, so my son was used to cake and pictures and cranberry cocktail in a plastic wine glass. He did not like the idea of Grandpa not having any more birthdays. I had already burst his bubble with my brief explanation, but the look on his little face caused me to do a quick reassessment; it was more merciful to paint a picture a little boy could more easily accept, one of a heaven with toys and cake and balloons.
I told him I was just joking – of COURSE there were birthday parties in heaven, how could there be a place with no birthday parties, that’s ridiculous. (Besides, do I really know for sure that there are no birthday parties on the other side?)
Our concern about heaven transcends age, religion, culture, and personal experience. To wonder about it is about as common and ancient a human endeavor as eating or laughing. But, unlike adults who get all metaphysical with their explanations about paradise, children seem to possess a very concrete image of a place that offers a counter weight to the tribulations of earthly life. They have a clear vision of what they think heaven looks like.
When my friend’s son first began wondering about who his late grandmother was and where she might live, he decided Nanny had taken up residence on the moon, right where they could spot her at night. They even started calling her “Nanny in the Sky”, a name that has stuck for many years. Though older now, old enough at least to understand space travel won’t reunite them, they nonetheless cling to the name he adopted years ago. The whole family calls her Nanny in the Sky.
I’ve heard all manner of speculation over the years from the tiniest philosophers in my life.
“Heaven has angels who play with you all the time.”
“Nanny in the Sky gets to do whatever she wants. There’s no bedtime there.”
“Do you need a rocket ship to get there or can you fly over on your own?”
“Will we live in houses there?”
“In heaven you float around like a big balloon.”
I don’t think heaven is something children think about all the time or even often, but it is a subject they consider when someone they know dies. The idea that a loved one hangs out in a place of beauty offers a solace to their little minds. What’s truly amazing to me is their unshakable belief in something beyond what they can see and touch. Call it faith, call it hope, call it whatever you want.
Whatever it takes to make it through a difficult time. Too bad that as adults we lose so much of that.