I think my son could write a book. Actually, Maddi is more our writer. She sits for a collection of minutes on end scribbling out her notes in crayon. They both have a story to tell. I wonder how they will choose to tell it.
Jordan’s preschool class was working with an incubator to hatch little chicks from eggs. Disappointingly most of the chicks never hatched and the one that did died shortly after being born. Jordan told the story to our neighbor today explaining that the chicks went to heaven to see his daddy. For him this was a good thing.
This morning he asked if dad brought his police car to heaven and if he needed it there. Whenever I hesitate before answering one of his many questions, it is most often due to my bewilderment of how to respond. Jordan usually fills in the blanks. He concluded, “Mom, he has his police car. He wants to use it.”
A song came on the radio yesterday in the car and Jordan told me it was his dad singing. Followed by, “I wish I got dead like my dad.” He quickly added referring to myself and Maddi, “and I wish you guys didn’t.” I gently asked him why – completely knowing. He answered straightforwardly, “I want to be with him.”