His little feet skip into the room. I grin. This kid is happy all the time.
Except when he isn’t.
Except when he asks the tough questions.
“Was Grandma cancelled?” he will say so plainly.
“What is cancer, mama?”
“What happens when we die?’
In this time of missing Grandma Peggy (her birthday is today), in and through our grief, I’ve spent many mommy/son moments not always knowing how to be with these questions.
A friend suggested recently that maybe my little guy’s questions are things that God is asking me, that maybe it’s a time of reckoning.
“Or maybe,” she said later in the conversation, “Maybe you could turn the questions around, ask him, ‘What do you think?’”
Each time I’ve done this. Each time I’ve made the swap from answering first to asking first, I find myself right alongside him in my own hurt and love and missing her. And I am often taken aback by the thoughts in his little four-year-old heart—thoughts I would have missed, had I been focused on answering right away instead of asking.
And every time, I am reminded that we are not alone in our grief, that answers help, but maybe not as much as the love in a hug, or the love that sits With us in our wanting to know it all, in the trusting and in the hoping all at once.
Gratitude Dare: Do a random act of kindness. Get creative! You know that person who could really use it. . . maybe instead of knowing what they need, take time to ask what might help.