IS HEAVEN UP THERE?
My cousin was 8 when his father died.
By Katherine O'Malley
I was lying flat on my back in a colorful bouncy house as its motor buzzed in the hot August air. I stared through the open top at the stars and the planes flying overhead. It was dusk, and all of the other kids and family members had gone inside to eat dinner. I stayed behind with my little cousin, whom the bouncy house and the dinner and the whole birthday party was for. He was turning 9, entering the fourth grade and trying to absorb life like every kid does. He
had also lost his dad a few weeks before to pulmonary fibrosis, an incurable disease.
My cousin was 8 when my uncle died. I was in college at the time, and was responsible for staying with my cousin for that whole summer that my uncle slowly, and then rapidly, declined. I distracted my sweet cousin with trips to the movie theater, games of Stratego at my dining room table, and more snacks and treats than he was allowed. I would watch him during these “fun” times, looking for signs of sadness or stress or loss. He never gave away a single change
in his expression.
Even at my uncle’s funeral, this young kid barely gave an emotional cue away. He didn’t smile or laugh, but he didn’t cry or crumble, either. He remained stoic, unwavering, a gentle support to my grieving aunt. I thought I might never see him break — until that night in the bouncy house.
We had jumped around the house with his friends and our...READ MORE
