Our neighbor Nicholas was here for lunch today. He is almost three and a half and has been very interested in Kathleen. He wants to hold her, show her toys, and give her a bottle. The first thing he did when he came in the door today was to ask where she was.
Last January, February, March, he visited too. He would come in the door and say, " 'Enry 'ome?" The first time he said it, I couldn't breathe.
Each time he came again, he'd ask again. I would say no and remind him that Henry was in heaven with Oma (his great-grandmother), which is how his parents had explained it to him. And he would walk over and look in the bassinet in the dining room, just to make sure. Then he would ask to see Henry's other bed (the crib that used to be his), and we would go up and look at the crib. We'd come back down stairs and he'd ask for Henry again. And I would say that we could look at his pictures, so we'd go around and look at all the pictures.
It broke open my heart each time he asked, but in some ways that question was easier than "How are you?" I watched him try to make sense of it all, not wondering that he couldn't, for I couldn't—still can't really—wrap my brain around it.
Today he came in asking for Kathleen, and I showed him where she was almost asleep in her swing. I smiled watching them, but I wish 'Enry were 'ome.