Last night my little 3 year-old grandson lay down in bed with me and asked to hold my hand. It’s always amazing to me how healing that can be.
I asked him if he missed Papa Rick and he said,”Yes, Is he coming back?” I said, “No.” He replied, “Oh, sorry.” Such little words, but somehow I found I needed to hear it…sorry.
“Papa still in heaben?” “Yes, he’s still in heaven.” And I am still here, holding our grandson’s little hand, looking thru my upper picture window into the greyness. The moon is hiding behind the cloud cover and I dream that he is like me, searching thru the veil to find me.
I kiss my grandson, goodnight and fall asleep holding his little hands, special little hands.