Heaven

Shoeless Joe Jackson: Hey, is this heaven?
Ray Kinsella: No, it's Iowa.
Field of Dreams

---

"Where is she?" Wy asked a few miles north of Stringtown, Oklahoma. We were driving home from Oklahoma after our quarterly visit to see Old Granny. My Mom's Mom.

"She's probably sitting in her chair." My Lovely Bride replied.

"Not that Granny, the other one." Wy explained. "The one who died."

That's how Wy refers to my Mom. To differentiate from my Grandma, who we've called Old Granny. That is until a few days ago when the Elder Boy, always the deep thinker, told My Lovely Bride that we should just call Old Granny, Granny, since Granny Granny was dead.

Even I, ever the dumbass, who needs a flow chart to keep up with all the name variations, saw his logic which is why I told him a day later, while monitoring his shower (so he didn't flood the bathroom,) "If you want to call Old Granny, Granny, it's alright with me."

He looked at me sheepishly, those big brown eyes, my Mom's eyes, and replied, "It's ok Dad. We can call still call her Old Granny."

Not wanting to be placated by a seven year old, I said, "Son, I'm ok with you guys calling Old Granny, Granny. The reason we called her Old Granny in the first place was to differentiate between her and Granny. But Granny is dead. Old Granny is my Grandma. That's what I call her. With you guys, I'll probably always refer to her as Old Granny. Out of habit. And I think it's kind of funny. But you can call her whatever you want."

Fast forward three days, and the Boy(s) and I were in Sand Springs, at the Wal-Mart near Old Granny's house on the hunt for a bag of Pup-Peroni for Ruby the dog. We had just left My Lovely Bride and Old Granny in the clothing area when Wy, apropos of nothing, said, "Who is she?"

"You mean Old Granny. She was Granny's Mom." I said.

"Is she your Mom?"

"No. She's my Grandma."

"Oh." Wy said, not looking all that certain.

"Do you remember my Mom?" I asked.

"Yeah." Wy said in a way that made me believe he wasn't being 100% honest.

"She's my Mom's Mom."

"Oh." Still looking uncertain.

"Mom is your Mom, right?" I explained. "Well someday if you have kids..."

"I'm not having kids." Ethan interjected.

"This is an example Boy," I said. "Let me get my words out."

"Like I was saying, If you guys ever have kids, then your Mom will be their Grandma. Their Mimi. Or Granny. Whatever you decide to call her. Understand?"

"Yeah." Wy said.

"So your Mimi, she's Mom's Mom. Mimi is your Grandma. You call her Mimi instead of Grandma. But it's the same thing. Like my Mom was your Granny."

Wy nodded his head slowly, to show that he was following me.

"So if you have kids one day..."

"I'm not having kids." Ethan interjected again.

"Be quiet Boy." I said pointing at Ethan, and then turned to Wy and continued, "Your Mom will be their Grandma. Or their Mimi if that's what they call her. And your Mimi who is your Grandma. Will be their Great Grandma. Their Old Granny. Or Old Mimi."

"Does that make sense?" I asked Wyatt.

"What," Wy said.

"What?!?!?" I asked flustered. "Who Old Granny is?"

"Who?" Wyatt asked.

Fuck me.

Talking to Wy can be a post-modern who's on first routine.

The funny thing though. Even when you think Wy isn't paying attention or listening, he's absorbing what you are saying and often will ask you follow up questions hours, if not days, later. Which is why in the middle of Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian, Wy said to no one in particular, "Why is (insert Pop's special lady friend's name --- who is now his wife) stuff at Pop's house?"

A few hours in the rearview we had driven to Tulsa to see their new house. Old Granny did not come. She stayed and watched Ruby the dog. At the time Wy was more interested in Pop's backyard, or the lack of grass in his backyard, than our explanations of why all of Pop's stuff was mixed in with all of Janie's stuff. He seemed oblivious to all of that until three hours later, in the middle of a movie, a seat away from the Granny formerly known as Old Granny. My Mom's Mom. A women who hasn't had romantic relations, to my knowledge, since my Grandpa died, 24 years ago, asked why Pop and Janie were living together. So much for our Don't ask, Don't tell policy in regard to Dad's romantic life, post Mom with Mom's Mom.

Fast forward four hours and we had said good-bye to Pops and his new wife, who the Boy(s) thankfully call Janie (I'd need a flowchart otherwise) as well as Old Granny, or Granny, and were heading down 69 into Stringtown when Wy asked, "Where is she?" She being the Granny who was formerly alive. My Mom.

"She's probably sitting in her chair." My Lovely Bride replied.

"Not that Granny, the other one." Wy explained. "The one who died."

"She's in a box." Ethan answered so matter-of-fact that I couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Really?" Wy asked, thinking Ethan was messing with him since I was laughing so hard.

"Yeah," I laughed. "It's true."

"Yeah." Ethan agreed. "She was cremated."

I kept laughing until my Lovely Bride said, "She's up in heaven."

That shut me up.

A few seconds later My Lovely Bride added, almost to herself, "I don't know why I say up, but I think of heaven as up above. Granny is up in heaven."

That shut us all up and we were quiet for a moment, thinking I guess, about heaven, what we thought, or believed, until Wy broke that silence by asking, "Who?"

Until I BLOG again...and a face in the glass and it looks like mine.