Good Riddance

So we are in the car this evening picking up a pizza from a local joint. We drive back into the Battlefield where we live and I start talking about it with the kids.

"Lots of people have died in this battlefield where we live," I say to the kids.

"Like how many?" the one who eats erasers asks.

"Oh, probably thousands, hundreds, probably," I say, not really knowing how many.

"Are there skeletons in the battlefield?" the one who eats erasers asks again.

"Oh, maybe if you dig," I say.

"Wow! I love Virginia!" he says.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I have never seen a skeleton and I so want to see one," he shouts out, "Have you ever seen a real skeleton, Mom?"

"Actually, I have," I say.

"Wow! Where did you see it?"

"In school. Some people, when they die, donate their bones to schools and stuff so people can learn from them."

"When I die, I want you to throw my bones in the forest," he says. "Actually, I want you to bury me."

"I don't want to bury you," I say, "I want you to bury me."

"Why, Mom?"

"Because I want you to live much longer than me," I say.

"Will I probably have to bury you?" he asks.

"Oh yeah, but not in a long time," I reassure him.

"Mom, I can't stand to think of you dying ever. I swear that if you ever die, I will cry so hard I will fill the whole house with tears! You can't die! I will be so sad! I will NEVER get over it!" he wails.

"I'll probably get over it," my oldest son, who has been quiet all this time, says.

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