My nephew passed away in October.

I know what you’re thinking: “Dude, I don’t read this blog to cry. My mascara isn’t waterproof.” (The women probably feel that way, too.)

But don’t worry – this isn’t a sad post.

Brian was a special kid. Severely handicapped, he couldn’t walk by himself, feed or bathe himself. He required care 24/7. But he was, as all these kids are, an absolute bundle of love, and he gave our family so much joy.

And my sister was a SUPERMOM to him. She gave up any semblance of a normal life and cared for him until the day he died. It was the most consummately selfless act I have ever witnessed.

And it really got me wondering: what kind of karmic reward comes with a sacrifice like this?

Is there stadium seating in Heaven? Does she get a box seat?

Does she get to come back as a queen, or Alexis Colby Carrington, or Beyonce?

Will she get to sit up there with God and gossip like mean girls, while he forces all the lesser souls to eat lunch alone?

I picture my sister getting awards (“And the winner for Best Performance by a Mother in a Sacrificial Role is…?”) as she strides to the stage in that famous Jennifer Lopez gown. (Hopefully, we’re all 25 in Heaven.)

I picture her getting to be bouncer at the Pearly Gates. “You, with the wheelchair and the voicebox. Come on down!”

I imagine her having a mansion so big you need Segways to get from the screening room to the wine cellar. (“I’m sorry it’s such a long walk,” she would apologize to guests, “but you know that crazy God. He does love to spoil us.”)

I picture her getting to be guardian angel to Oprah, which essentially just amounts to live streaming Oprah’s dinners with famous people and stopping her from eating carbs.

I imagine a lot of great things for her, for one simple reason:

Because I have to.