Home alone with all three children:
As tiny Claire crawls to her toys,
working jaws of seven months,
I play piano with Elizabeth
a whirling wind of only two
who loves to dance and sing and scream,
her crazy arms swoop up and down
she pounds a fractured melody,
when Matthew breaks from building blocks, tugs my sleeve
and says to me, like I should know,
“Adopted kids live in Heaven two times;
once before we’re ever born
and picked up from the hospital
and second when we finally die and then we go to stay.”
I didn’t know what to say to my little four year old
but he didn’t give me the chance to fumble for wrong words.
With heart fixed on the task he said,
“When I go back to heaven, I’m going to build a house.
A Heaven House.
My friend Katie is going to help.
Mommy and you can come and live and Katie and…”
On and on his list of friends
that I knew would grow with years of life,
and come at last to rest in Matthew’s little Heaven House.
His eyes shining with the plan.
I sat speechless in his love.
