Letting Go

He was out of my sight for only a second.

At the hospital, Steven looked at the child. “It’s not Johnny,” I told them. “He can fly. That child can’t fly.” The police and nurses considered me with pity. Steven held me so tight that I thought my heart would burst.

Even as the tiny casket was placed in the ground, I expected Johnny to fly back to me.

That night I dreamt that he hovered over me, held in the arms of an angel.

“Why didn’t you fly him away?” I asked the angel.

“I did. He didn’t feel the pain.”

“I miss you,” I said to Johnny.

“I miss you, too. But I’m right here.”

The pressure on my heart eased. When I woke, Steven held the photo of Johnny leaping from the jungle gym into his arms. I curled up into him and we wept.