Death and a 3 year old

Wednesday night (8 hours after Oma took her last breath):
I told Lovie that Daddy would be picking her up from school tomorrow and that Grandma would be spending the night when they got home.

"Where will she sleep," she asked. I told her she’d sleep on the couch. “Well where will Oma sleep?” she asked. I told her Oma wouldn’t be coming. That she was no longer sick. That she was now an Angel in Heaven.

That was about that; we were getting ready for bed and onward she moved to the next task at hand.


Thursday morning:
On the way to school, I reminded Lovie again that Daddy would pick her up later and that Grandma was spending the night. She asked what I would be doing at work. I told her. After I ran out of explaining duties and that Grandma would coming over and I would be with her, she asked what I would be doing with Grandma. I told her we’d be going to a funeral home.

"What’s that?"

I explained it’s a place where some people gather after someone dies to say goodbye to them.

"Because when someone dies you never see them again."

Then I told her, again, that Oma was no longer sick, but that she died and that’s who everyone will be saying goodbye to at the funeral home.

“So then I won’t ever see Oma again?” she asked.

My stomach dropped, tears started to well. "No, baby. You won’t."

"That will make me very sad," she said, her voice softening.

"Me, too, baby but we have lots and lots of pictures and stories and we will never ever forget about her."

"Can you turn the music louder?" she asked.