We’re at camp right now.
This morning, over breakfast at our little table, BigBrother asked a question.
“Do you think Munchkin will ever come to camp with us?”
Mind you, I had consumed some coffee before he woke up but not enough to deal with in-your-face grief and loss. I took another sip of coffee.
“Well, probably not, buddy.”
He took another bite of cereal, staring out the window.
“But why not?”
I stared out the window too. No one was out and about yet; the morning “up-and-at-em” bell hadn’t even sounded yet. I stared at a cottage across the sidewalk. I watched a hummingbird make its way to my mom’s flowers that she has planted along that side of our cottage. I looked up at the sky and wondered when this heat will break. I looked at anything but my inquisitive five-and-a-half year old.
“Well, different families have different things that they do in the summer. Munchkin is going to Canada soon to visit The Squatch’s parents with her family.”
Another bite of cereal.
“But isn’t the Munchkin part of our family too?”
I told you that I hadn’t had enough coffee for this conversation.
I looked at him. Big brown eyes looked back at me: my eyes, her eyes, his eyes. Another sip of coffee.
“Of course. She’s your sister and she always will be. But they’re busy in the summer like we are. You know, like we haven’t been home much at all this summer? With vacation and trips to YiaYia and Papau’s house and Nina’s house? And camping trips? And now we’re here at camp for ten days. It’s good to be busy in the summer.”
More cereal. More crunching.
“I just think she’d have fun at camp with us.”
More coffee. More inner breaking.
“I know, buddy. Me too”
