Strange Happiness

The plan today was to go pick up Aleister and take him swimming at the Bainbridge pool. His mama met me at the Silverdale Mall and off we went, Aleister in his long brown sweater, flip flops and swim suit, and me in my black pants and sweater (I don't dare yet enter the pool for fear something "poolish" might infect my still-healing scars).....when, suddenly, Aleister started a high-keening like crying. When he finally could talk, he talked. "I miss Papa Jim," he said, between sobs. "I know, I miss him too," I said. His high-cry turned into a full wail. He wailed. I have never heard Aleister wail since he was a little boy and even then, it wasn't like this. For one thing, although he doesn't know it yet, his voice has changed and his wailing is lower. For another thing, it breaks my heart.

I thought. I thought quickly. "Aleister," I said (I think I am the only person left in the whole wide world who still calls him 'Aleister') --we can either go swimming - or we can make our own funeral for Papa Jim. Which would you like?" It only took a second before he announced, "A funeral. A funeral for Papa Jim. So what will we do?"

"Well," I said, thinking quickly again, "we get some of his ashes and put them in two bottles, one for you and one for me." Aleister nodded. "Then," I went on, "we get some flowers and we think up things we would like to say to Papa Jim privately, so that nobody else can hear, and we bring along a picture of Papa Jim so that we can see him and get the feeling of him..." whereupon Aleister interrupted me, put his hand on my leg and said, "I do not need to get the feeling of Papa Jim, I have that already. I do not think it will ever leave me. Is that all?"

"Uh....no! Then I find a bottle, a strong thick bottle with a good strong cap - and we write notes to Papa Jim and put them in the bottle and we throw the bottle into the water, as well."

"I know exactly what I want to write," said Aleister. I gave him five skinny pieces of paper. On each piece of paper he wrote the exact same words: "I miss you." "I miss you." "I miss you." He did not sign his name, I think he figured Papa Jim would know whose writing it was.

With all that in tow, we drove down to the water and walked around until we found the perfect spot. "This is an important thing we are doing, Mama Kay," said Aleister. "Yes it is," I agreed. "We could have gone swimming but we are doing something for Papa Jim instead," he said. "Because he was the best man I ever knew."
"Me too, Allie," I said, "me too."

We whispered our silent words. We tossed in the ashes. Each ash-plunk made a circular design in the water. We looked at Jim's picture and Aleister cried some more. Then we wiped his tears and said, "the flowers." He threw in the red rose. I threw in the daises. He threw in the orange whatevers. I threw in the white and blue whtaevers. They had petals. They were flowers.

"I need to sit down, Mama Kay," Aleister whispered to me. We found a place. I sat next to him and was thunderstruck when he threw both arms around me, held me close and moved me even closer to him. Ten year old boys don't throw their arms around their Grandmas; they don't like to. The only time they do is when their Mamas tell them to. But Aleister did. He nestled me right into his arms as he said, "This is a very touching moment for me."

The sun came out. It had been dark and dreary and then the sun came out. "I think this is what Heaven is like," Aleister says. "When you do what you need to do and then the sun comes out."

We went, then, for ice cream. At Mora's. Both one scoop ice cream cones cost eight dollars. "Eight dollars!" Aleister exclaimed. "That's pretty pricey!" I felt a bit embarrassed but I said nothing. "Well," the young lady behind the counter said, "it's all natural."

"Hey," Aleister said. "I am all natural too, but I don't cost eight dollars."

The ice cream. It was good. It was natural. Although really it didn't taste any better than Breyers. I'm a hick. What do I know? We left the ice cream place and walked out into the sun.

"That was a perfect funeral," Aleister said. "They ought to have funerals for kids. And the sun should always come out after. Do you reallly think Papa Jim did that?"

"You never know," I said, "you never know."

"Mostly my life is a bunch of 'never knows', Aleister said. "School is for knowing, Life is for not knowing."

I agreed.

I drove Aleister back to his mama. She said that he often just starts crying for Papa Jim. "He won't even let me dust off Jim's photographs," she said. "He figures that that particular dust landed there for some particular reason and it is not my province to dust it off."

But ALeister was already onto a different subject. "Someday," he said, " in China, they will find the bottle with the notes and they will wonder what they say. And Papa Jim will be right there making the sun come out. And maybe we, here, where we are, will feel a little bit of strange happiness because on this day, Mama Kay, we did everything right."