Re: My Demise

Apparently my people think more about my death than I thought they did.

During our great clean sweep of '13 a few weeks ago, I came across the slippers I wore at our wedding.   I opted for flats given the height differential between Matt and I.  Is there a more comfortable "flat" than slippers?  I think not.  I bought a pair of white satin slippers with a little pearly business on the toe and was probably the most comfortable person on stage!  My little secret...until now.  Oops.
I figured there was no use for keeping these slippers in a box so I wore them that night.
Matt noticed them and said "you can't wear those"
To which I replied "why?"
His answer: "Because when you die I want something to remember you by."

So is he suggesting that without his dead wife's slippers he won't remember me?  Photo albums, digital pictures, memories, life experiences are lost if he doesn't have these slippers?
Fine.
I put them in his closet.  I'd hate for him to forget me.

Gabe is not worried about forgetting me, but strategically planning his future around my death.

Gabe wants to live with me forever (as long as I buy him a bigger bed) and he wants me to give him my house when he dies.  His reasoning is not just because he wants to hang with his mama forever or get a free house, but because he wants to make sure he can find me in heaven when I die.

He explained that when you die you go "straight up" to heaven.
He doesn't want to live or work very far away from me because he wants to make sure when he dies, and goes straight up, he isn't very far from me.  He wants to ensure our entry points are close by so that he doesn't have to walk very far to reach me.

As we were driving home from school he picked out a plot of land that is about 2 miles from our house.  He decided he could buy that land to build his restaurant, called "Blue" because he loves the color blue, since it was still pretty close to my house.

That boys loves me so much!  He tells me so, in so many different ways!

Comments

Rachael said…
Those second borns' . . . love them.

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