Jason's Untimely Thoughts

I’m downstairs paying bills in the dark tonight, which is a pretty good way to pay bills really, when I hear Jack crying.  I run into him on about the third stair, he says he wants me to come lay down with him.  Adelaide is asleep and the movie is over.  (This is a change, normally he starts screaming “Daddy!  Daaaaddy!” the minute Adelaide falls asleep.)

We go lay down and he starts talking to me.  I tell him I wish his mommy was here, he says he does too.  “Where did mommy go again?”  I ask if he remembers her going to the hospital, he does, he says she died, but “Where did she go?”

I tell him she’s in Heaven.  “Where’s Heaven?”  I mention the stars and sky and say I believe she can come around us still, we can talk to her, maybe she can talk back to us, and maybe she can come visit us in our dreams.  “Yeah,” he says, “and I can hold her cheek.”

For as long as I can remember, Jack uses “hold your cheek” as a source of comfort.  Might reach up during the night, certainly while falling asleep, or just between bites of a PB & J sandwich, and put his hand on your cheek for a few seconds (or minutes).

I ask if she visits him in his dreams, he mentions holding her cheek again.  I ask if he’s held her cheek lately, “Yeah, downstairs on the couch, when I watch a movie.”  Which happens every morning and afternoon.  No matter whether current or memory, it makes me feel good that he remembers her and remembers her as a source of comfort.  Makes me cry too, of course, but am glad he remembers.