Last night I asked my mom a thing

that made her eyebrows freeze:

“Do you think God gets hungry, Mom?

Does He like grilled cheese?”

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I pictured Him up in the clouds,

just sitting on His knees,

and maybe angels bring Him snacks

whenever He says please.

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Then I asked, “Who made God first?

Did someone make Him be?

Or did He just appear one day

and say, ‘Hey, look — I’m me’?”

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I wondered if He has best friends

or plays outside at night.

Does He have sleepovers up there

when stars turn on their light?

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I asked about the people gone,

the ones we miss so much.

“Can Grandpa hear me talk to him?

Does heaven keep in touch?”

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“Are there real stairs up to the sky?

Or doors we cannot see?

And when you die, what part of you

steps out first quietly?”

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“Do dogs go up to heaven too?

Do flowers? Tables? Shoes?

If everything has spirits, Mom,

then what gets refused?”

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“Do people get their bodies back?

Or float around like air?

And if I bring my toys someday,

will all my stuff be there?”

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I asked if I picked Mom and Dad

before I came to be.

“Did I choose you from somewhere else

or did you choose me?”

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She pulled me close and held me tight

and waited till I was through.

She said, ‘Your questions matter, Jack.

Ask anything you need to.’

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She didn’t say she knew it all

or how the whole world ends.

She just stayed right beside me there,

the way she always tends.

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And even though death feels so big

it doesn’t scare me now.

’Cause Mom says love keeps going on

in ways we don’t know how.

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So I keep asking everything,

the things that never cease:

“Do you think God eats lunch up there?

Does He like grilled cheese?”