Is it treasure?

Kids often aren't given enough credit for how well they can read a situation, or how gracious they can be. No, really! Sometimes, with almost no life experience, they are presented with a scenario, that they can't possibly comprehend, and they somehow instinctively know exactly the right thing to do. Something that an adult, with all their knowledge and experience, could have thought about in detail, but not come up with. 

My nan died recently. She was quite old. Nearly 98. I'm not going to go into detail, as this story isn't really a story about that, it's just around that. We held the funeral for my nan a few weeks ago and she was cremated. About a week before, my mum mentioned that they were arranging a small service, on her birthday (Sunday 24th June), at her local church to bury her ashes in a flower bed in the graveyard. Not a big event. Just a number of immediate family, the vicar and about 15 minutes of talking, praying, burying a small box, etc.  I have two sons. Ewan is 3, and Lucas is 1 this week. We hadn't taken the boys to the funeral, but figured this would be OK. During the service, Sharon was with Luke and the pram, as he was a little unsettled, and I had Ewan with me. Ewan is a three year old boy. He is rightly inquisitive. He wants to see everything and to understand what is going on in any given situation. Usually by repeating the word "Why?" In this instance, he had more direct questions. Questions I wasn't fully prepared for, or sure how to answer. After some words from the vicar and a short reading by some people in the family, the service went something like this...

The vicar placed a small wooden box, containing the ashes, in a pre-dug hole in the flowerbed. We were asked if we wanted to symbolically place some dirt on the box, with a trowel. Me and Ewan were towards the back, in case my usually rambunctious son disturbed proceedings. Ewan wanted to see what was going on and insisted on being put on my shoulders. I duly complied. Once he saw people were digging in the mud, he announced he also wanted a go. I said he could come and help me. On my turn, I put him down and he held my hand and accompanied me to the hole. We got the trowel together and placed/threw some on the box. Ewan wanted another go. So we did. Ewan wanted to fill the rest of the hole in. I quickly explained that we probably shouldn't do that, as there may be some other people who still wanted to go. We returned to the back of the pack, out of the way, and I held him while the vicar began speaking again. He had questions: 

Ewan,"What's in the box, is it treasure?" 

Me, "I guess it is a sort of treasure, yes."

Ewan, "But why are we burying it?"

Me, "Because we are saying goodbye to my nan."

Ewan, pauses a moment, "Why do we have to say goodbye?"

Me, pondering on what to tell him, and figuring you can't protect a child from life/death, "Because she died." Waits, in fear, for the inevitable question about what that means.

Ewan, "Oh", pauses for longer, "But why are Grandma and Bill (my mum's husband) here?"

Me, slightly thrown by the tangent, "Because my nan is Grandma's mum."

Ewan, another pause, "I want Grandma."

Me, looking at my mum stood, attempting to be stoic, next to the still talking vicar, in front of the small gathering, "Errr. OK."

I rather trustingly put him down. He walked through the gathering and without saying a word, stood next to her and took hold of her hand. That's the end of the story and the bit that makes me cry.