Where's Grandpa?

"Where’s Grandpa?"
The kids watch one of the men at Grammie’s new assisted living facility (WSM) make his way slowly across the lawn. Z knows the answer to this question, I think, but he asks it anyway.
"Grandpa died, honey."
"No, I know, but where is he?" Asking, once again, a different question than I originally thought.
"Grandpa is in a cemetery in the town where Daddy grew up."
"What’s that?"
"It’s a place where people are buried after they die."
"Oh, so his skin is gone and you can see his bones?"
"Yes, that’s probably right."
He is excited now. "Oh, can we dig him up????"
When I held that sweet, needy infant in my arms, this is one of the conversations I never anticipated. Nobody ever plans to explain to their dinosaur-loving 4-year-old that it’s not nice to dig up the bones of people to study their skeletons. I certainly didn’t think about having to teach a child the fact that we leave dead people "to rest" in a cemetery, bones and all. I try to explain that Grandpa lives in our hearts because we still remember and love him. Our conversation continues for a while, and he is thoughtful. After a while, he is redirected and we are playing on the gliding swing in front of WSM.
"Where’s Grandpa," M asks in her piercing, 2-year-old voice a few minutes later when another elderly man shuffles past.
"M," Z lectures knowingly, "Grandpa died out."
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Death becomes a recurring topic of conversation. Frogs die. Elephants die too, but they live longer than frogs. Rhinos die, giraffes die, doggies and kitties die, pigs die, and people die. Everyone dies. People die, but sweet little children don't have to worry about that for a long, long, long time because Mommy and Daddy plan to be around and love you and hug you and kiss you until you are grown, and then love you and hug you and kiss you some more. Things live and then they die. We don't plan to die until we are very, very old.
"Oh, like Grammie? She's going to die. That's because her hands are like this." Z somehow makes me understand that he's describing my mother-in-law's wrinkly skin.
"Grammie will die some day, but her body is working pretty well now, and we have time to have fun with her and see her and love her while she's still here."

Death is a difficult topic, but someday we may have some conversations about Grammie that are, in some ways, even tougher. Grammie's short-term memory is already shocking on some days because of Alzheimer's disease. Yes, one day I think this "living death" may be even tougher to explain. For now, I continue to teach my children to be loving and accepting of all kinds of people and embrace difference. For now, they are enjoying making new "friends" in Grammie's new place, and the "friends" are truly enjoying them.