You Can't Come Back Anymore

I was at one of the orphanages the other day when a funeral procession went by. About 8 men were carrying a big casket, and about 100 people followed them, wailing. After they passed, one of the kids came up to me and started talking about it.
"Auntie Mariel, somebody die. They go put him in the ground."
"Yes, somebody did die." We pause and I ask, "What happens when you die?" (Here I am thinking that this is a great opportunity to tell him of God's love for him, when what he said next shocked me.)
"You can't come back any more. Sometimes people can come and kill you while you sleep. Then you can't come back anymore."
I forget that these are kids who know death all too well. Some of them witnessed their parents and friends die. While they are resilient, many of them still live in fear. I look at them and think that a six-year-old shouldn't worry about someone coming to kill him in the middle of the night. He shouldn't have to think about whether the windows have locks on them, or how he would defend himself if someone were to break in. These aren't the typical childhood fears of the dark or of something under the bed. In some ways these kids have had to grow up way too fast. We see promise and progress, and it's easy to forget where this nation has come from. But this too is Liberia. Still healing, still hurting.