Between Greens November 25, 2013

After one or two delays, we were relieved to have arrived on time.

It was pleasant to stand under a tree, breeze ruffling our hair, looking past the neatly cropped grass and paved road over green fields to a handful of village houses on the crest of a hill, half hidden by mature maples. People clustered in small groups, chatting as they waited.

Then someone said, “It’s here,” and there was a hush.

All eyes went to the entrance of the curved driveway and the vehicle that entered slowly, majestically. As it passed me, moving toward the patch of Astroturf near the far fence, the chief mourner in the second car waved a quiet acknowledgement of our presence.

Nothing in this world is as bleak as a stately hearse gliding smoothly, almost soundlessly, between lawns.

Through the Eyes of a Small Child November 4, 2013

He was talking about something, like a car crash, that might happen, this four year old boy.

“Then,” he concluded, “I’d go right to heaven and see Daddy.”

He thinks a minute.

“I’d take him chocolate.”

I swallow and think hard before I speak.

“It would be wonderful to see Daddy,” I agree, “But he might want you to wait a little while. He was quite old, wasn’t he, when he went to heaven?”

No answer from the backseat so I forge on.

“Daddy might want you to finish school and have fun doing lots of sports, and get a job you love, and meet a special girl, the way he met Mommy and loved her and she loved him and they loved each other and had you and your brother to love too.”

There’s a kilometer of silence from the backseat before I hear a small “Yeah.”