Heaven help me.

I was having dinner with the kids the other night, and I asked them about their day. We have this ritual where I ask them to tell me one interesting thing that happened to them in school today. Usually their answers are topical, such as "This girl threw up," "Some kid made fun of my hair," or "I fell at recess." Well, on this particular night, my son told me that a priest had come into his class and was talking about heaven. I asked what they thought heaven was like.

At that point, my Catholic school upbringing flooded my memory like a bath in holy water. Their answers were so clearly influenced by their Catholic Church primers. My 8-year-old daughter's first thought was that she would get to meet John Lennon, her favorite Beatle. (She thinks the young Lennon is really cute. I think she's got moxie for that choice.) My son imagines a place where all your family is waiting for you. And he'll finally get to meet my dad who died a couple months before he was born. (Which got me a bit choked up, I must admit.) They both agreed that you walk in clouds, with everything bright and white. Angels lift you up and St. Peter is waiting by the gates. It all sounded so perfect, so idyllic. And yet I realized how innocently wishful it was. It's unfortunate how cynicism can play such dirty pool with our once hopeful visions.

Now, I must admit, being whacked on the side of the head by crusty old dried-up nuns through most of my grade school years was probably not the most efficient way to ensure that a child grows to be a card-carrying member of the Jesus Club. Sister Jamesita back in grade school was a true warrior for Christ, yanking sideburns as if they were the long-lost remnants of her unrequitted sexual longing. She would delight in tortures of all kinds, and I'm sure some orgasmic pleasure would course through her body as she came waddling on her pudgy legs down the aisle to administer a quick knuckle to the noggin. All that aside, I still managed to maintain some semblance of faith and belief in a higher being, but the whole peaceful heavenaly bliss after death thing has become a tough sell.

It's a belief that gets harder to hold on to. After a couple failed marriages, failure to win even one tiny little lottery, hair on my back, and a dented PT Cruiser, I got pretty cynical about things getting better once I pass on to the great beyond. I seriously doubt that we don white robes, get handed a harp and spend eternity floating through a fluffly cloud filled paradise. As my kids went on about how they'll meet Elvis and play with their deceased cat Willie, I began to fill with dread that someday they'll have the same conversation with their kids and be thinking what I'm thinking. That there just may be nothing. All gone. Zilch, nada, etc. And is that really better than two divorces, no lottery, waxing, and dents? Maybe this is heaven. Here and now. Life is heaven and the better we live, the better it is for us, because once it's done, there's nothing. Spending time with the kids, being with someone who makes you happy/crazy with desire and passion, seeing a really great movie that gives you goosebumps, biting into a perfectly prepared filet mignon. Maybe all that stuff is what heaven really is, and the dudes who wrote the Bible were full of crap about it coming after death.

Okay, I'm getting really deep here, and I don't mean to. But as I get older (and older still), the thought of death and heaven does pop into my brain more often than when I was a youthful whippersnapper eager to live forever. So I guess what I really need to do is enjoy what I've got here. After all, I did live through hell during my second marriage, so why not heaven? We all should live by that tired old cliche, "Make every moment count." And enjoy heaven on earth. And maybe, I could hit the lottery, nothing big, just a few grand to pay off some nasty bills and get a new car...Then, when I'm near death, I could worry about what's coming next, and hopefully not crap myself.

It would be cool to meet Elvis though.