Last night Connor and I were talking about Abby (it's pretty much part of our bedtime routine), and as usual, he said that he was sad we never got to bring her home.  As I was thinking, yes, understatement of the year, he exuberantly exclaimed “I’m just going to get some wings and fly right up to Heaven and get her and put her in her crib!”  By exuberantly, I mean with a huge smile, bouncing on his bed, and reaching up to the sky as if to catch her that very moment.  It was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen, and I'm happy to have an image of it frozen in my mind.

I know it’s common at his age to view death as being reversible, either for want of a loved one’s return, or for fear of it. The best I could do in that moment was to explain that the road to Heaven is a one-way street; Abby can’t be with us in body, but she's with us in our hearts (I’ve said and heard it so many times I'm starting to loathe the words; they almost sound cliché).  Wouldn’t you know my brilliant boy gave me a Dennis the Menace smile and said “But we’ll all get to be together again when WE die and go to Heaven!”  He looked at me as if to say “HA- I got ya!”  I love how he can find comfort and rejoice in that thought, even though I can’t yet.  I know his grieving will likely change as he matures in understanding, but sometimes I really I wish I could look at things the way he does right now.