Well, You Silly

It was the summer of 1993. The kids were young and life was busy. We were busy with work, busy with the house, busy with Andrea who had started school and other activities. We were always running - always trying to make ends meet, make a home, advance careers, and most importantly - making sure the kids were happy and healthy.

Danny was four. He was perfecting his dare-devil ways, always running to keep up with the older kids. He created his own fun while living life to the fullest each and everyday. Our little street was Danny's playground and it was equipped with all of his playmates. His love of sports was already evident as he competed hard with kids twice his size. He was a physical kid - not afraid of the fall, the bump, the occasional scuffle for turf. That was the obvious, but there was so much more.

Careful observation of Danny that summer revealed times when he took a break from the activity to have a moment. It could be laying in the grass or breezing through the house. Sometimes he shared a moment while swinging, watching TV, or in the bath tub with his collection of Orca whales. You'll notice that I don't call it a quiet moment. That's because he wasn't quiet at all. He was engaged in full-blown conversation.

As I watched and listened, I assumed he was speaking with an imaginary friend. There were questions and observations. Some giggling, some listening, and always some conclusion or some common understanding. I loved watching these times when Danny was so engaged. After awhile my curiosity got the better of me, so I asked him, "Danny, who are you talking to?" Without missing a beat and with all of the confidence in the world, the response was "My angel."

Of course, it was his angel. You hear the stories of how young children are more open to the spiritual, more connected with the universe, and more in tune to the presence of something bigger than us. As the year progressed, I drew some sort of odd comfort from Danny's private discussions. I loved the look on his face, his demeanor, and the fact that there was always some resolution reached at the end of each conversation. Life is good as a four year old with an angel. Finally, after more time had elapsed, I ventured into this relationship, one last time. "Danny, does your angel have a name?" He turned his face to mine, looked me square in the eye and matter-of-factly responded, "Well, you silly, my angel is your Dad."

Yes, that's right, you heard me correctly. My son was walking around speaking with my Dad who had passed away 14 years prior to Danny's birth. We had one picture of my Dad on my bedroom chest. Occasionally conversation may have included a laugh about my Dad or the sharing of pearls of wisdom my Dad had shared in years past. That was the extent of the inclusion of my Dad in our day-to-day family life.

I never invaded these conversations again. There was no logical explanation for the ease and the confidence in Danny's speedy response. Other than, Danny was indeed talking with my Dad. The conversations were real and Danny knew to whom he was speaking. As Danny grew, the conversations were less frequent and intense until it occurred to me that I had not witnessed "the moment" in quite some time. Danny was growing up and his life was louder and busier.

Years and years passed before I ever shared this story with Danny. He quietly listened and at the conclusion, quietly said, "He's still with me, Mom."

Of course he is.