Wise Men and Other Stories (10 page)

“Yes,” I said.

Her response: “I do, too.”

There was a short pause, then: “Daddy, do you believe in Heaven?”

I thought for a moment. “I believe we will always be together,” I said.

“I think Pop is in Heaven,” said Kathleen.

Pop was my mother-in-law’s father—Kathleen’s great grandfather. He had died earlier that year after a long illness.

“It made Grandma sad when Pop died,” she continued.

“Yes, it did,” I said.

“I know what Grandma’s mom’s name was,” she said. “It was Gram.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“I liked Pop,” said Kathleen. Then she added, “It’s not nice to make fun of old people.”

“No, it’s not.”

There was another short pause.

“Everybody dies, even if they don’t think they will,” said Kathleen.

There was no skirting this comment. “That’s true,” I said.

We drove along the blacktop highway, cutting across the countryside. I hadn’t noticed it until then, but at some point it had started to snow—big, heavy, wet flakes. Other than that, it was a very still, dark December night. My daughter was quiet for a long time, but she was alert, looking out the window, thinking hard. Finally, she spoke again.

“I’m a little bit afraid of dying,” said Kathleen.

Fear of dying... at last, a subject that I knew something about.

“A lot of people are afraid of dying,” I said, “because we don’t know what it’s going to be like.”

“Yeah, we don’t know what it’s going to be like in the ground or if we’ll go to Heaven,” she said.

I did not want her to have nightmares about being in the ground. “You don’t actually go in the ground,” I told her. “Your body does, but by then you’ve left your body.”

She thought about this, then said, “I don’t get you.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Wherever you go, I’ll be there.” This I truly believed. I could not imagine any circumstances, even death, that would cause me to drift very far from my daughter.

“And Pop will be there,” said Kathleen. “And Gram.”

“That’s right.”

The conversation went on like that for a while longer. I was a little angry with myself for not being more prepared for such a conversation, but I was pleased to see that her mind was already at work on some of life’s biggest questions. I took comfort in the realization that my daughter would probably be able to figure out most things for herself—which means she’ll be a lot better off in the long run than she would be if she relied on someone like her father to figure things out for her.

While all this was going on, I was still not finding the neighborhood. At some point I realized that Kathleen didn’t really know why we were driving around. When I said we were going “to look at Christmas lights,” she thought I meant that we were going to a store to buy more lights for the Christmas tree. By the time she figured out the real purpose of our trip, she was pretty tired. When I finally found the neighborhood, she was asleep.

It was just as well. On second glance, the decorations in the neighborhood seemed ordinary and unimaginative. There was nothing particularly wonderful or awe-inspiring about them. I drove around for a little while, but by then I was tired, too, so I turned around and headed home.

The whole excursion could have been pretty depressing. I had wanted to show my daughter some wonderful Christmas lights. Instead, I got lost. Then, when I finally found the neighborhood, the lights were nothing special. It was a far cry from the memories I had of driving around, looking at decorations when I was a kid. But that’s okay. We had discussed Santa and God and Heaven and death—a conversation I would not soon forget. And at the end of the evening, I was heading home while my daughter slept like an angel in the seat next to me. I would not trade that drive with my daughter for anything.

Just then, Kathleen opened her eyes a little.

“Daddy?” she asked.

“Yes?” I answered. She didn’t answer right away. I looked over at her. She looked very warm and cozy—very peaceful—the way a child in warm pajamas and a blanket should look when out for a Christmas drive with her father.

“Yes,” I repeated softly. “What is it?”

“Maybe this is Heaven,” she said.

I thought about that for a moment.

“Yes,” I said. “Maybe it is.”

Mike O’Mary is a writer of essays, fiction, drama and sketch comedy. He is author of
The Note
, a book about the power of appreciation, and
Wise Men and Other Stories, Lessons from the Holidays on Santa, God, Heaven, Death & More Fun Stuff from Someone Who Still Has a Lot to Learn.
He has published stories and essays in the Sunday magazines of the
Chicago Tribune, Denver Post, Rocky Mountain News, Baltimore Sun, Cleveland Plain Dealer
and
Detroit Free Press,
and in
Catholic Digest
. He was also a regular commentator on WNIJ – Northern Illinois Public Radio, doing weekly commentaries as part of the local segment of National Public Radio’s “Morning Edition” program.

Mike is also founder of Dream of Things, an independent press focused on memoirs and anthologies of creative nonfiction. Mike serves as series editor for Dream of Things anthologies.

Mike is a graduate of Knox College (BA in Economics and English-Writing), the University of Montana (MFA in Creative Writing, MA in English Literature), and the Second City Comedy Writing Program.

For more information, visit
www.dreamofthings.com
.

Dream of Things is an independent press focused on publishing memoirs, anthologies of creative nonfiction, and other books that align with our mission to publish “distinctive voices, meaningful books.” For more information, visit dreamofthings.com.

OTHER BOOKS FROM DREAM OF THINGS

Betty’s Child
A memoir by Donald Dempsey
In the tradition of
Angela’s Ashes,
this memoir chronicles twelve-year-old Donnie’s ordeals with poverty, religion, and physical and mental abuse as he attempts to come of age with only his street smarts and of humor to guide him. “Heartrending and humorous.” Kirkus Reviews

Swimming with Maya
A Mother’s Story by Eleanor Vincent
“Vincent’s poignant decision to donate Maya’s organs will resonate with even hard-boiled readers.”
Booklist

Leaving the Hall Light On
A Mother’s Memoir of Living with Her Son’s Bipolar Disorder and Surviving His Suicide by Madeline Sharples
“A moving read of tragedy, trying to prevent it, and coping with life after.” Midwest Book Review

Everything I Never Wanted to Be
A memoir of alcoholism and addiction, faith and family, hope and humor by Dina Kucera

“Raw and funny.” Joel Stein, Time Magazine columnist

“Like a maelstrom.” ForeWord Review

“Malcolm in the Middle meets Cops.” The Compulsive Reader

Daughters of Absence
Transforming a Legacy of Loss, ed. by Mindy Weisel
A collection of twelve essays written by daughters of Holocaust survivors. "A powerful, life-affirming read and a strongly recommended addition to Holocaust studies reading lists and reference collections." Midwest Book Review

Be There Now
Travel Stories from Around the World, ed. By Julie Rand and Mike O’Mary
Real people sharing real stories of awe and insight, fear and laughter, humility and humanity as they explore the world around us. "An anthology of vivid travel pieces that capture the exterior world and offer a vivid sense of personal reflection."
Brevity

Saying Goodbye
To the people, places and things in our lives, ed. by Julie Rember and Mike O’Mary
“If you have ever had to deal with loss, read this book.” Midwest Book Review

MFA in a Box
A Why to Write Book by John Rember
Winner of Hoffer, Nautilus and Midwest Book Awards as one of the best new books on creative writing. “The essential truths about excellent writing.” The Judges of the Hoffer Awards

The Note
A book about the power of appreciation by Mike O’Mary
Named Best Gift Book of 2011 in the Living Now Book Awards.