We’re in the van, out on some early evening errands. It’s been a day filled with wandering thoughts, some of which have been, by necessity, pushed aside. Real life has demanded it. The runaway train carrying its cargo of sorrow has been chugging in and out of my consciousness, but there’s been little time to stop to acknowledge its presence. Unable to hold off any longer, the train toots it horn wildly as it passes once again, demanding to be noticed. I am not ready, but I have no choice. It’s coming toward me this time and the only way to stop it is to comply – to feel the weight of what it carries.
“Mom, are you crying?” a small voice says from the middle row in back.
There are no words in return, just some suppressed sobs as I try to keep the train from charging full speed ahead and out of control.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
I have to say something. He’s on to me. I don’t want to scare him.
“Oh, honey, I’m just a little sad, that’s all.”
“Why, Mom? Why are you sad?”
“Well, someone I knew, a mother like me, someone who had little boys, like you and your brother, died, and I’m just sad about it.”
“Oh. So, Mom, where is she now?”
“Heaven, sweetie. She’s with God.”
“Well, she must be happy then, Mom.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure she is very happy now. It’s just those of us who are still here who are sad, but she is happy.”
“Do you wish you could be with her, Mom?”
“Someday, yes, but not yet. For now, I’d like to stay here with you.”
“Because I love you.”