Gone to Visit Jesus
I am five years old, and playing with my friends at daycare, when I see my Oma coming through the front door. Why is she here? My mom is supposed to get us. Maybe we get to go play at Oma’s house. I wonder if she’s made Mac-n-cheese? The teacher calls my name and my annoying big brother’s name, and we go to the front. Oma greets us with a sad face and hugs us both. Why is she sad? Did she loose her favorite toy like I did?
Opa is in the car waiting and we all pile in. As he is driving, I realized that he was taking us home. No, you’re supposed to take us to your house and feed us Mac-N-Cheese. I was worried, but like always I fell asleep in the car.
“Hey stupid” my brother calls, “Wake up.”
I groan but awake slowly to find that we are at my Nana’s house. Why are we here? And more importantly, how did my Oma know my Nana? My mom is coming out of Nana’s house and she has been crying. She comes up to my brother and I and holds us close.
“Mama, why are you crying?” I asked, worried that I had done something wrong. I thought I put here make-up away.
“Baby, your Papper is dead.”
As she took us into the house, I saw my whole family, and they were crying too.
“Mama, what do you mean dead?”
My dad was the one to answer. “Lizzie, Papper has gone to visit Jesus. He will stay there until we go to be with him."
Oh how cool, I wanna go see Jesus. Why didn’t he take me with him? “Can I go see Papper?”
“Not yet pooh bear, but if you are a good girl, then someday."
Soon we all went home and it was time for bed. Then next morning, my mom came to get me dressed. She put me in a pair of blue jeans and a pink t-shirt, my hair was put into a ponytail, and we got into the car to leave. I didn’t know where we were going, but after a few minutes we pulled up to this building. My parents called it a funeral home, and that we were going to say good bye to Papper.
We walk to the room where they have put my Papper. I was scared because this place smelled funny and every one wore sad faces while they were here. As we walked into the room, I saw a dark emerald box with an American flag on either end. The room was filled with beautiful flowers and cards. My dad picked me up so that I could look into this box they called a casket. And there he was, my Papper.
“Can I kiss him bye Daddy?”
“Sure baby.”
My dad held me over the edge of the casket, and as I lean over I notice that my Papper smelled just as funny as this place. I kiss him on his cold wrinkled cheek and could feel the stiffness of his skin. I wander why his skin is so tight. It was not like this before. With a horrified expression, I look at my dad and yell, “They stuffed my Papper!” Everyone laughed in spite of their tears at this. How do you explain to a five year old that they haven’t stuffed the body, but preserved it, so that people could view it for the funeral?
It’s been three days since my Papper went to see Jesus. My mom made me put on a stupid dress, stupid tights, and an ugly bow in my hair. She even made me sleep in curlers last night. We drive to my Nana’s house and are greeted by a long shiny black car.
“What is that mamma?"
“That is called a limo baby, and it is going to take us to the church for the funeral.”
“What’s a fun a rel?”
“That is where we will say good bye to Papper one last time.”
“Oh.”
We all pile into the limo, and are taken to the Catholic Church; the place is full of people. I am glad that it isn’t raining. It had been raining for three days, and I was tired of the rain.
"What’s that smell mamma?"
“Shhh, baby, don’t be rude. It’s called incense.”
"I whisper back, “It stinks.”
My mamma had to take my brother and me to the cry room. We were wailing. I will miss my Papper. He was my best friend.
We got back into the limo after the ceremony, and went to the graveyard. The minister said a final prayer and we all threw blue carnations on top of his casket. He was lowered into the ground to be buried. Then we all went back to my Nana’s house to eat and talk about memories. I don’t say it out loud but think, I remember when he would let me fall upside down in his lap and tickle my tummy. And I used to take his cigarettes out of is shirt pocket, or a pen, which ever one was there. I still don’t understand why I can’t go see him though.
It has been twenty-one years since my Papper past away, and I still feel the pain of his passing. I do understand now, why I could not visit him then, but will one day.