My grandmother Amaro said to the five-year-old me while we were sitting in her car that spiritual love was stronger than physical love. She told me this because I had asked her if she died, how would I know that she was by me if I couldn’t see her? This was also around the time when her husband, my grandfather, died. I was at a threshold seeing both sides for the first time and trying to understand what it meant. My Grandmother did not silence me by changing the subject or making light of it. Gabriel and I have shared moments speaking in simplicity about: death, dying, God, and heaven. His questions are direct, “Does it hurt? Where do we go when we die? …” These snippets of conversations with Gabriel remind me of my conversations with my “Vavie,” the tender, honest curiosity of children’s first peek into the complexity of life and death. For me, these steps are a hopeful glimpse into faith and spirituality with the basis that love is the root of which everything becomes.
My being in the hospital when Gabriel (and family) were at our home awaiting Christmas had compounded these thoughts. None of this is harmful, nor a depressing, morbid conversation. It is part of life’s incredible journey: Seed, root, sprout, blossom, wilt, and return home.
The other day at the breakfast table Gabriel looked up sincerely to Yann, Chelsea, Martin, and baby Olivia expressing with emotion,
"I miss Vavie.
I want to give her A L L the love I have in my body!
But don’t worry, mommy, my heart holds more to give to you too.”
Love is endless when we let it be.
I feel his love from miles away.
Hopefully, today I can go home.
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