Missing Michael

“I miss Michael.”

Every once in a while, one of our boys brings up their grandfather, who died a year and a half ago.

“I still like him even though I don’t remember him,” from the four year old.

“Of course. Because he loved you,” I always say.

“He taught me lots of things,” says the nine year old. They shared an interest in space.

“Where is he dead?” asks the four year old.

“He’s in the ocean.”

“You put him in the ocean?”

“Well, that was where he wanted to be. He always dreamed of having a sailboat and sailing it around the world.

“But he never did.” This from the seven year old. “Sometimes I think of him and I get sad.”

“That’s what he’s doing now, right? Sailing?” I want Michael to sound happy for them. We had a fish named Joe who we sent back to the ocean too. He is also much happier there.

The seven year old laughs. “Maybe a fish ate him, and he’s steering the fish to all the places he wanted to go…. until a penguin eats the fish.”

They like penguins. It means Michael is doing fine.

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