I bought my grieving grandson a toy detective kit because I wanted to see him smile again. Three nights ago, I accidentally pressed play on the little red recorder and heard my dead daughter’s voice telling him to unlock the back door on Sunday night.
The thing I keep coming back to, the one that sits the heaviest of everything from the past year, is that Jeffrey never got to say goodbye to his mother.
Not because he wasn’t there.
He was right there at home, waiting for her to come back with his birthday cake.
Jeffrey never got to say goodbye to his mother.
The seven candles were already set out.