R is for Roz

 oz says: 

“I was thinking before I went to sleep last night about the story in the Bible where there’s a funeral procession and Jesus runs into it somehow. The funeral is for a boy — or young man — the son of a widow. And Jesus raises him from the dead, he is the sole support of his mother. And that’s where the story ends; we never know what happens next.”

I say: “It’s ‘The Widow of Nain.’ In Luke.”
     “Right,” she says, remembering. “That’s right. But it’s sad — I was thinking this, too — that the story has to follow Jesus. I mean, I know it does. It’s heretical, probably, to think otherwise, but it’s also sad. Because his story ends, and the young man’s keeps going, and the young man’s mother’s, and we don’t know what happens to them.
     “I also know,” Roz goes on, “because I went to Sunday School; I know that Jesus’ story never ends. So, don’t say that. But I want to know what happens to the man and his mother.”
     “What do you think?” I say.
     “I don’t know. I have no gift for stories. What do you think?”
     “I don’t know either,” I say. “They live until they die, like we do.”
     “There’s a happy thought,” Roz says. “But then we live forever!” she says brightly though she doesn’t believe it.