Toys are scattered about the floor. Robots and Dinosaurs attack plastic soldiers. The Grandsons are enacting a ****** battle. No one is safe! Not even Grandpa! I've been killed, apparently, by a flying super-robot that knows no mercy!
I worry I won't be playing with them next year.
Darkness all around the world. Darkness all inside of me. Whispers behind my back, murmurs of pity, I think.
I still have much I can offer to these boys. Or so I'd like to believe.
I'm not ready to stop hugging them. Telling them, again and again, how important they are to me.
Little boys live in a special world. A place of mud and sticks, bugs and stones. Imagination the only rule they follow.
***** hands and faces, bodies screaming for a bath.
I understand this world. It used to be the same one I lived in before.
Ah dear Grandsons. Will you miss me? Will you think of me in the middle of your playing?
Will you feel me?
Grandfather lips mouthing "I love you."
Your hearts so innocent. Lives so uncomplicated.
Neither of you understands the concept of dying.
As it should be.
Stay this way as long as you are able to.
The real world is a cold place. A mixture of grieving and denial. A faithless emptiness that consumes the desire to achieve.
Toys are scattered about the floor. Robots and Dinosaurs attack plastic soldiers.
Dear God, how I wish this was the only battle I was fighting.