The Wall

My kid asked if mommy can see us. I said yes. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s not. Maybe I was comforting a child. Maybe I was lying. Maybe both. That’s one of the shittiest parts of losing someone when your own beliefs have blown apart. The kids still need answers. They still need a story sturdy enough to sleep on. And I’m over here with a head full of broken theology and rage and uncertainty trying to construct something gentle enough for them to hold. I used to think belief was either real or fake. Solid or absent. Now it feels more like triage. What can I say that doesn’t crush them? What can I say that doesn’t feel like pure bullshit coming out of my own mouth? What can I live with after the lights go out and the house is quiet? So yeah, I tell them she’s with us. I tell them love doesn’t disappear. I tell them they can talk to her. And then later I sit alone wondering what the hell I actually believe anymore.