Brings to mind those discussions about God. I've thought about death often in recent weeks, but not really about God.
My mother took me to church occasion-ally—but I don't recall ever connecting that up with the thought of God.
She mentioned Him quite often, and I had to pray to Him at night, but I never thought much about it.
I remember Him as a distant uncle with a long beard on a throne (like Santa Claus in the department store on his big chair,
who picks you up on his knee and asks you if you've been good, and what would you like him to give you?).
She was afraid of Him, but asked favors anyway. My father never mentioned Him—
it was as if God was one of Rose's relatives he'd rather not get involved with.
"We're ready to take off, sir. May I help you fasten your seat belt?"
"Do I have to? I don't like to be strapped down." "Until we're airborne." "I'd rather not, unless it's necessary."
"I've got this fear of being strapped in. It'll probably make me sick."
"It's regulations, sir. Here, let me help you." "No! I'll do it myself."
"No... that one goes through here." "Wait, uh....Okay."
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