This rainy morning driving to school, after we dropped Araela off at her campus, and were making the 6 minute drive over to the Kindergarten campus, Ezra started giggling to himself adorably from his carseat. I looked back at him in my rearview mirror, and asked fondly, “What are you laughing at?” He put his hands up to his face, giggling more, and said “Koa? He told me this: One time a little boy? He was pooping on the potty? And then he fell off the potty, and poop got all over the place! All over the seat and everything…oh, god!” His face shining, his hands covering his giggling mouth. I giggled a little too, and couldn’t help it, was compelled to ask casually: “What else does Koa tell you? Do you feel like sharing it with me?”
He looked out his window, and said, “I ask him if he can see all the stars where he is? And he say that from the stars he sees other things, other bigger things, even more far, far away.” When he said those words, I caught a sacred glimpse, a transmission of the unspeakable his words were pointing to. Then he faced forward again, and caught my eyes in the rearview mirror, and continued “And he say he sees his daddy when he’s working? When he works with the trucks. And….and he say he also sees his mama’s heart.” I breathed deeply in, and asked “He told you he sees his Mama’s heart?” Ezra nodded solemnly, matter-a-factly, and said “Yes, he sees her heart and he gives her love.” His face, his big, bright blue eyes stood shining out from inside the green hood of his raincoat. He said, “We always give our love, Mom, no matter what? That’s what’s true, you know.” I sighed: "Oh yes, Ezra."
Just then we arrived, and as we pulled up to park the car he pointed joyously, seeing a friend out the window. He started quickly undoing his buckles, and sung excitedly “Our first rainy day at Kindergarten! I’m wearing my boots, and maybe for puddles even!” I helped him out and we walked to the classroom, my tender heart thumping in my chest. Before I kissed him goodbye I said, “Can I tell Koa’s Mama and Papa what you told me?” He smiled: “Ok!” And then, with joy, “Bye Mom!”
As I walked back to the car, I contemplated the immense mystery of this unusual communication coming through Ezra Star these last few days. And, feeling my sleep-deprivation I wondered if it has anything to do with these horrible coughing fits he’s been dealing with, me up in the night with him several times each night this week, as he has struggled through his choking cough to find air. Wondering if the veils between the worlds are somehow thinner for us when our bodies are challenged? Wondering what these messages serve? Are they messages simply from Koa for his parents, somehow coming through this open, innocent, just-distant-enough channel? Are they to comfort us, those who are left by loved ones on this intensely challenging and beautiful earthwalk; to reassure us that when we pass over to the other side we are still closer than close, still watching over our beloveds intimately? That the ones on the other side are wanting to let us know “that we always get to give our love”? Or is it simply my almost 5 year old son’s amazing little imaginative mind, mysteriously finding a way to make peace with the death of a boy who was his same age, the son of one of my dearest beloved friends?
We can’t really know, can we? We can only wonder. And we can find simple gratefulness for the raindrops touching the flesh of our face, and the sun that is sure to come soon to warm them; for the blessed rise and fall of your chest, this breath that is given and given until it is not. Grateful for the words that appear here, the grief and the praise, the earnest yearning to let this small life somehow touch the heart of the world. And for the tears too, keeping us real, present, freshly alive.
This morning I peer through the window my son showed me, the window that Koa showed him, of what’s even more far away than the stars, the “bigger things, even more far, far away” that are somehow still one and the same with giving love to his sweet mama’s heart, deeply grieving the loss of her precious little boy's form. I peer through that window of God and I see, once again, yet clearer than ever somehow, that the continuum between the worlds? Between this moment and the next, between my life and yours? It is simply and purely made of LOVE. Truly and deeply, it is always only love.