When I was six my cousin Meghan died. She was only a few weeks old, and was so small the nurse looking after her knitted her a little cardigan. I over heard my parents saying that the priest had come and she had been baptized because she didn’t have long left. My mother later told me she was gone up to heaven and was with the angels. I couldn’t stop thinking about why it was so important that she got baptized. It bothered me. My teacher said it was because if she hadn’t been, she would have gone to limbo. You have to be baptized to go to heaven. A few weeks later my dog died. I cried because I knew he wouldn’t go to heaven which meant I would never see him again. I thought maybe if I had baptized him he would have gone. It was my fault. I didn’t protect him. So I made him a grave with a crucifix made out of two lollipop sticks and put a flower on his grave. Every time it withered or the crucifix rotted I would replace them. He was one of God’s creatures, and my teacher said God loved all his creatures and wanted us to love and care for them.