By: John Cabascango
Time has faded the details of the memory that returns to me this Mother’s Day. I know it involved one of our dogs. The truth is, I don’t remember which dog, or where we were living at the time. My childhood involved moves from Ecuador to Ohio, Ohio to Texas, and Texas to Florida. In the course of those moves, at least one dog was left to a family member or friends so it would have a stable home. My sons would probably end up in therapy over such a decision, but they haven’t known such extensive moves.
What I do remember is a childhood conversation with my mom over whether I would either see my dog again in Heaven or whether I could have a dog in Heaven. Which of the two options I’m not clear on anymore in terms of memory, but the question of Heaven and a dog is still clear. My mother did what the best parents do, she answered the question to the best of her ability, bolstered by her faith and clear communication. That was and is helpful to a child, and quite frankly to anyone else. Her answer is still clear to me today, although some of the other details have faded with time. She said “if you need a dog when you get to Heaven, you will have one.”
I’ve shared that story several times over the years, usually getting an emotive response that leans toward sentimentalism. But for me, the question of the dog in Heaven and my mom’s answer is far from sentimental. My mom knew, amidst our moves that I was hurting, saying goodbye to a dog, friends, a house, school and other things I had grown used to. Heaven was a simple concept to me, something you got in exchange for accepting Jesus, and some good stuff along with it. My mom’s answer was simple but profound enough to point me along the way, with so many other things she shared.
My mom never downplayed or dismissed whatever childhood stage I was in. Even during adolescence I remember her telling someone “it may be puppy love, but it’s real to the puppy.” I think it was C.S. Lews who commented that children should neither be patronized or idealized. The same could be said of people in general and my mom’s simple statement about me having a dog in Heaven was true in that she believed all our needs would be met in Heaven. If the dog was a need then I would have it.
What I have come to realize, in my much less sincere faith (certainly than my mom’s) is that our truest needs are blurred with our greatest pleasures. As a result we spend so much of our lives clinging to, walking away from, and regretting things that are passing. Mom’s faith and her explanation was so real that I was given a hint, that if we long for things that are passing, and are still left longing, then there just might be something beyond these longings, and that something or somewhere, or someone, is more real than the shadows we cling to, and cry as they fade.
Today, I remember my childhood conversation with my mom, even as she descends into Dementia. The mind that held two Masters degrees, learned Spanish as an adult, and taught me to love reading and learning, is now encased in a slowly closing room that limits her communication to simple phrases and sentences. In some selfish way, I long to be able to vent to my mom, complaining of the usual drudgeries of work and the day’s irritations.
I long to share the sort of parental bragging that sane people grow irritated with, but grandparents have endless delight in. In darker moments I resent a world where my mom has to suffer. But in the moments of light, surrounded by shadows I hear her voice, passing on the faith of a real Heaven, and a reunion where things are not as they were but as they were meant to be, and I have moments of clarity. When I was child I grieved briefly, for a dog I can’t fully remember. As a man I grieve for the moments I want, with the woman who first gave me faith in what Heaven could be.
For the record, I think there will be animals in Heaven, because there are animals here on earth. If they aren’t exactly what we know now, it’s because they aren’t yet what they were meant to be.
On a much more painful, but hopeful note, someday I will have the missing conversations I can’t have with my mom now. Perhaps they won’t be what I remember or what I want, but what they were meant to be made into.
Happy Mother’s Day Mom.
John Cabascango is the author of Throwing Moses Under the Bus and Off the Rails: Evangelicals, Power and Politics. He teaches Spanish at Middle Creek High School, and lives in Clayton with his wife Sherri, sons Esteban, Santiago, Cristian and their dog Fifa.
I love this. She sounds like a wonderful person.