One Sunday after several weeks of this, she was listening to the Eucharistic prayer in church. She asked, "Where is Jesus?" I wondered how best to respond. Last fall our beloved dog died. Delia had been trying to understand death.
Leaving church one Sunday during the weeks she was so involved with the Last Supper story, we passed a large crucifix, with the feet of a life-sized Jesus at her eye level. She approached it and felt the nails, carefully tracing each piece. "Are these real?" she asked. I replied that they were part of the statue, a picture of the real nails. Delia caressed the feet, kissed them, and paused for some time.
Then her mood brightened, she said, "But Jesus didn't stay dead." I asked her what happened. "He got up," she said, and skipped off for cookies and milk at coffee hour.