“Bubbie, will you marry me when I grow up?”
His brow wrinkles. “But you’re already married to Zaide. Will that be your second marriage?”
“Bubbie, will you be alive when I’m grown up?”
I’m startled into silence.
“I will be sad every day of my life if you’re not alive, Bubbie.”
I’m trying to come up with something to say about this.
“Bubbie,” he says, “on the day you die, lots of new babies will be born and they all will be you.”