As a child I was intrigued by religion and I think I still am in many ways. It started with my grandfather. He was an old Swedish man that looked like Santa Claus. Big long white beard and a big round belly. He used to always play solitaire and when he played solitaire he told me that he played the devil. He had to beat the devil so I asked what this devil was and he told me the devil is what makes people do bad things. He loves for people to do bad things. “Well then who makes people do good things?” I asked. Ahhh, that is the story of God that lives far up in the sky and watches everything you do. Some wise men (and women) apparently were told by God to keep telling these stories. Many of the stories were about hoping to go to the place in the sky. But no one had actually seen God and it took a long time for God to send his son to straighten it all out. But then he died, went to heaven, then came back. That got a little too complicated for a five-year-old. That summer my grandpa died, I seen my mother cry from sadness for the first time. It only lasted a minute or two. There was a funeral, kind of, because he donated his body to science. This was a long long time ago so it wasn’t something that everybody did. It was my grandfather’s choice. Grown ups kept saying things like, “It is okay little one. He’s in heaven. He’s with God now.”

That July was super hot. We had a big picture window in our living room and this wonderful beautiful robin flew right into the picture window. I ran outside. Oh no, that bird was dead. There was no doubt that bird was dead. That poor bird did not move. It’s little neck all floppy like. So I decided that this bird should have a funeral and I would bury it. And like everyone said, the bird should go up to heaven by the third day. I could prove this now because now I had something to bury. So I buried the bird alongside the house and I waited.
I counted three sleeps and on the third day I dug up the grave. I was finally going to be able to understand how grandpa went to heaven. As I started to dig up the bird, a part of the bird came out with the dirt. And then a lot of worms, and then a lot of screams, and then a lot of bad bad bad thoughts about heaven. My mother, who was really quite logical about most things and not very emotional about anything (like I said I only seen her cry once in sadness). She just looked at me and said, “Carol things die. When they die they go into the ground. When they go into the ground they rot and become part of the earth. Their souls, the part we can’t see, is what goes to heaven.”
Okay then. Really it’s just hoping you go to heaven. It’s not knowing. No way to prove it. No way to prove that the imaginary being is up in the sky. For most of my life I couldn’t hope it was or wasn’t. I could not imagine it ever happening. Ever finding happiness, even in death. Other people were happy. Other kids were happy. I was never happy. I never felt joyful.
Today I truly know joy. I love each day and my life, and death, are both bursting with hope.
I have a Mandevilla plant that I absolutely love. I buy them every year and someone said I should bring it in as a houseplant. Well of course I procrastinated until the first frost and it just turned brown. But I had hope so I cut it down and brought it in. That was in September. I kept it watered. Added some plant food. Told it to please grow. And now here it is mid November and the first green shoot. If it didn’t grow, I would be okay. Hope is my ability to see the possibilities and accept the failures. Hope can lead to ecstatic joy. Failure leads to knowledge. Maybe there is this wonderful heaven place or maybe I just become part of the earth, but either way I’ll be happy.