"I wonder why daddy left us mommy?" My son looked up at me. "He was daddy. Daddies aren't supposed to die; that's what he said."
How was I to reply to that? Was I just supposed to say that his father is dead get over it? How could I tell my five-year-old son that his father, my husband, died and was never coming back?
I knelt down to him buttoning his small suit.
"You need to button up." I said, choking back the tears that were about to fall to the ground. "You'll get a cold and get sick. If that happens, you won't be able to go to school and see all of you little friends."
My son looked down at the ground. "No one likes me at school. They all say that I'm stupid and different so no one will play with me."
Anger churned within me, an oil black rage. I wanted to kill those kids for hurting my baby's feelings. Just because he was different gave them no right to make fun of him. What if they were different? Would they act the same?
I hugged my son close to my body trying to take away his pain and make it my mine. I softly sobbed onto his shoulder, no longer able to the tears back. His small arms wrapped around my back trying to comfort me.
"It's okay mommy. I'll always have you as a friend so I'll never be alone." He cooed to me.
My tears escaped my eyes with more efficiency. 'No Michael. I won't always be here. Everyone dies.'
I pulled my head away from, taking away one hand and wiped my eyes. I tussled his short brown hair weakly smiling at him.
"Yeah." I whispered. "You'll always have me"
Michael smiled at me and tightly hugged me.
'I wonder why I have to lie to you to make you smile?'
"Alright." I said gently pulling his arms off of me. "We need to go now. It's about to rain."
I reached over next to my son and picked up the bouquet of red roses from the ground. I stood up and gently grasped my son's hand and walked over to grave where my husband was about to be buried. I peered inside looking six feet into the earth. A luxurious mahogany box, with fake gold handles lay in the brown dirt.
I looked at Michael and handed him the flowers. He took the bouquet and examined them.
"I wonder why they're so bright?" His curiosity now perked.
He always asked silly 'I wonder why...' questions to me. I smiled at him.
"They're bright so you can say goodbye and not worry about the other person thinking you're sad." 'Another lie.'
"Oh." He said. "Who am I saying goodbye to mommy?"
Tears began to weld up in my eyes again. "You're just saying goodbye to daddy."
He looked at the roses again. I could see the sadness dwelling within his eyes.
"Will daddy come back?" He asked.
What am I supposed to say? No and break his heart?
"One day." 'Stop lying. He deserves the truth'
My son threw the roses into the grave. "Bye daddy." He whispered.
He turned around and began to walk the other way pulling me with him.
I think he knows his father is dead.
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