Luke was sleeping in bed with me, as the boys sometimes do, when he spoke. Still as a rock, head on his pillow, smelling of dirt and earth and boy - his voice was barely a whisper.
"Sometimes I hear angels, mama."
I turned at that, sharply towards him. If I hadn't been so close, I never would have heard him.
"You, do?" I asked timidly, unsure of my approach.
"Yeah, mainly in the day time I hear them."
We lay in silence for a while, his words sinking deep into my flesh. My mind raced, and I recalled a message from his teacher a few weeks back.
"I have to tell you on Friday he was talking to your mom, it so touched my heart. I didn't bring attention to it, I just listened. He said 'I wish you were here Nana and I love you.' It was awesome because the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile and he moved right on without missing a beat! I truly believe she is with him calming his sweet heart."
My hands trembled as I reached across the bed to him.
"What sorts of things do they say?"
He paused, in thought. "Well sometimes I hear Nana. Angels are real mom, I hear them. I hear her."
And there it was. There it is. I squeezed him with all I had, tears escaping onto my pillow.
For a while I toyed with the conversation we had. My logical side says things like: This is just how he is dealing with my mom's death. That kids will say these things. He's only six, this isn't possible. I don't believe in... the supernatural.
But wait. What if. What if he hears them? Hears her? Quinn has said and done things for months that leads me to think she connects in some way, why not Luke?
So I let it sit with me, marinating in my soul. It sits with me still, one month from the anniversary of her death. They can feel it, the kids, and of course I can too. As each day cools, we remember. As the space between here and there tightens, we feel it.
I think Luke does hear angels, and I'm quite happy that he does. The veil between here and there, it's thin is it not?
Lucky, lucky, lucky boy.
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