I remember when my Grandpa died a couple of years ago. People came to the house, Mom cooked chocolate chip cookies, I got to stay home from school, got loads of presents from everyone like it was my birthday or something. I remember wishing a couple of more relatives would die so I could complete my miniature porcelain tea set.
Mom tried to explain. “Grandpa has gone away and isn’t coming back.”
“Where?” I demanded.
“He’s at peace now, Ruthie. He’s gone to the same place as your goldfish.”
Running to the bathroom thinking they had flushed him, I imagined him just round the U-bend. I spent that summer stuffing bologna sandwiches and T.V. Guides down the toilet. Mom finally decided to call the doctor when she found me with my head down the toilet bowl telling him who Carol Burnett’s special guests would be that week.