Chris

My son was born with a condition that doctors said would take him before age 10. He made it to 9. Last night, he asked me, "Dad, what happens when I die?" I wanted to lie. I wanted to say he'd grow old. That he'd play football. That he'd fall in love. That he'd have kids of his own. But he was 9, and he was smarter than me. So I said, "I don't know, buddy. But I know you won't be alone." He thought about it. Then he said, "Will you be sad?" I couldn't speak. I just nodded. He reached up and touched my face. "Don't be sad too long, okay? You still have to water my plants." I laughed. Then I broke. This morning, he asked to go to the park. He walked slowly. He got tired after 10 minutes. But he smiled the whole time. On the way home, he said, "Dad, can I give my toys to the kids at the hospital?" "Why?" "Because they're scared too. And I won't need them anymore." I pulled over. I couldn't drive. Tonight, he asked me to read him his favorite book. Halfway through, he stopped me. "Dad, if I'm not here tomorrow, will you still read to me?" "Wherever you are," I said, "I'll read to you." He smiled. "Promise?" "Promise." He fell asleep on my chest. I stayed awake all night, listening to him breathe. Memorizing the sound. Counting each one like a gift. At 4 a.m., the breathing slowed.