As you all know by now, our six-year old is quite the character. Recently he has been obsessed with death. He talks about it often, even to the point of talking about people getting old and dying. He also talked about us dying. I thought this was normal behavior, until we went to the cemetery on Memorial Day weekend. Then I began to worry.

As we wound up and up on the graveled country road, Bob sat in the back seat keeping us entertained. Suddenly, he brought up death.

“Mamaw, you know Papaw’s getting old. He’s going to die soon,” he told her in all seriousness.

“Bob, not if we take care of him. We want to keep him around for along time.” My mom told him.

“Now actually,” he began.

We all burst out laughing.

“Now actually,” he got louder this time, “you need to quit feeding him.”

We laughed harder this time. Until we got to really thinking about this. What if he decided that we were too old or too sick to care for, then he would probably find a way to send us on to our great reward.

When we reached the cemetery, we started through the gate. We were the only ones there, having missed the crowds. As we walked among the headstones, Bob informed us, “Hey, there sure are a lot of dead people here.”

Yep, there sure were.

But at times, he can really be more sensitive than many children his age. He came upon the grave of a four-year old girl. The grave was covered with knick-knacks and toys. He stood there for a few moments, staring down at her final resting place.

“You know Mom,” he gazed at me through solemn eyes, “somebody sure must have loved this one a whole lot.”

Tears slid down my face as I squeezed his hand. “Yes, I guess they did.”