Next to Die

Kids are fun to have at funerals because they keep it light. Like last week, when my extended family was standing in a cemetery and a man asked if anyone would like to say a word before my grandma’s coffin was parked in a crypt.

My 7-yo, dressed head-to-toe in pink (we told her grandma’s favorite color was pink) immediately stepped forward to say great-grandma used to drag her and her sister around in a box on wheels, and that great-grandma is the one who introduced them to Cheetos.

Had this been my funeral, I’d have been happy to leave it at that and let people litter my grave with Cheetos on major holidays. But a lovely Bible passage was read shortly thereafter, for tradition and normal people.

After saying goodbye to great-grandma, my kids wandered around and literally walked on the graves of their ancestors. A somber affair, it was not.

But later that night, after hanging around a giant charcuterie board with extended family for hours, my parents, husband, daughters and I went to Smashburger for a proper dinner. As we left, my 6-yo, Z, a jovial little darling, asked my dad if he was the next oldest in the family.

“Yes,” he said.

Z thought about that for a minute. Then she looked straight up at him and said:

“You’re going to be the next to die.”