I was up and typing on the downstairs computer when a ruffled haired Hudson woke up and came to crawl into my lap.
"Hi, Buster!" I said. To which he responded with a sleepy, muffled "hi, mommy". "Did you sleep well?" I asked. "Yup" he said. "Did you dream about candy last night?" "Nope" he said.
"I dreamed grandma came home."
Of all the kids, he's the one who vocalizes the fact that none of this makes any sense the most. At dinner one day after the funeral, half way through our meal, he popped his head up from his corn dog. "Where's Grandma?!? Why isn't she here?!?" Every time we go to grandma and papa's house now I think he's still waiting for us to wheel her out on trusty Walter.
"Do you know where grandma is?" I asked him. "She's at grandma and papa's church." he replied. "Well, Buster. You know what? She's in heaven. With Father in Heaven and Jesus." I said.
And he got very still and quiet for a second.
I asked him "What do you think about that?" "So she died? She's dead?" he asked. "She is." I said.
And my more fuzzy than curly haired guy cuddled tighter and buried his head into my chest.
After a moment of quiet I asked him again "What do you think about that, Buster?".
And my little Hudson, who is more cartoon character than little boy, said so quietly "I think.... I think.... I miss her".
And I didn't go back to work for quite awhile that morning. Funny how a morning cuddle is sometimes the only thing that can ease the ache.
