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?”
I pictured Him up in the clouds,
just sitting on His knees,
and maybe angels bring Him snacks
whenever He says please.
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’?”
I wondered if He has best friends
or plays outside at night.
Does He have sleepovers up there
when stars turn on their light?
I asked about the people gone,
the ones we miss so much.
“Can Grandpa hear me talk to him?
Does heaven keep in touch?”
“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?”
“Do dogs go up to heaven too?
Do flowers? Tables? Shoes?
If everything has spirits, Mom,
then what gets refused?”
“Do people get their bodies back?
Or float around like air?
And if I bring my toys someday,
will all my stuff be there?”
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?”
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.’
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.
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.
So I keep asking everything,
the things that never cease:
“Do you think God eats lunch up there?
Does He like grilled cheese?”
