Tuesday, February 2, 2010
It’s 3:17 AM. My son calls me to his bedroom.
“Mama? I am awake.”
“Me too. Kind of.”
“Will you wait here while I fall asleep?”
I pull out the default waiting area from under Bob’s bed: a large floor pillow (OK fine, it’s a dog bed) with a pillow and a couple of quilts. I settle in.
“Good night, Mama.”
“Good night, honey.”
“Mama? Does God want me to be happy?”
“Um... I think God wants us to have a full life which means that sometimes you will be happy and sometimes you will be sad. Most of all I think God wants you to grow and help others and let him handle the big stuff.”
“That sounds OK, Mama.”
“Good night, pal.” I quietly pat myself on the back for coming up with this answer on the fly at 3:30 in the morning.
“Mama? Why is God the only one that doesn’t die?”
“It’s time to go to sleep now. We can talk more in the morning.” My thinker hurts.
“Mama? Can I sleep down there with you?”
“It’s very small down here.”
“It’s OK. I’m very small. You can hold my hand, Mama.”
I do. We fall asleep.