Rating: PG
Summary: A son writes a letter to his mother, a father nurses his heartache.
Disclaimer: Characters and events in this story are purely fictional and inspirational. Any characters and/or events that resemble any person, dead or living, are purely coincidence.
Archive: Ask first please.

“Papa, I still miss Mama…” the young boy whimpered as he tugged his father’s trousers.

His father only looked down sadly at his seven year old son. Many things had happened three months ago. And many things were still happening. Wordlessly, he gathered his son into his arms and started to rock him, like he did when his son was still a mere babe. He pondered deeply and frowned, carefully trying to phrase his answer to reply his son’s simple and unspoken question.

“Sweetie, why don’t you write a letter?” he said as he looked down at his son’s innocent face.

“Letter?” the child echoed uncertainly as he looked at his father.

“Yes, a letter. Come, I’ll teach you how to write one. It might help to maintain your relationship with your mother,” the man, with one hand carrying his child, stood up and began to set about finding a piece of lined paper and pencil.

He juggled in his hands, a few pieces of paper, a pencil, eraser and his son. Feeling quite proud of himself despite the situation they were in, he began the careful instruction of teaching his son how to write a letter.

Within minutes or so, his son was a competent writer. He smiled, looking proudly at his own son. There was no doubt that his son was smart. Letter writing was not as simple as many had thought but his son had amazingly picked up the gist of it. Our son is talented, dear. You should see him now, the man sent a silent message to his wife as he continued to look at his son.

His son was concentrating very hard as he wrote, scrunching up his cute little face every now and then as he carefully remembered his father’s instructions and trying to determine what to put down in his letter. For that, his father would watch him. For that alone, his father would watch and protect him to the end of the days.

“Dear Mama,

Mama, this is a letter for you. Papa thought it would be best if I write a letter to you. He says this would ‘help to maintain your relationship’. I don’t know what he means but Papa is right. He always is and you say so too. So here I am, writing a letter to you. Papa says I should keep it ‘short and neat’. Just what I feel, because he says you are probably very busy with your work. He says you are an angel and you are not just taking care of us, but also many other people too, and he also say that now that I’m a big boy, I should learn to share. So I will keep my letter short.

Mama, I miss you. It has been three months since you are gone, since that big explosion. I’m still a little afraid of that explosion. I wish you are here, but Papa says that as an angel, you are probably at a faraway place, trying to help other people, because that explosion would mean a lot of people need your help. I know I must learn to share, but I miss you. I miss your sweet scent and your warm hands against my forehead with I’m sick. I miss your voice at night during bed time. I tried very hard not to laugh every time Papa reads me a bed time story, but I think you are better than him. Let’s not tell him that. It’s a secret between us, ok?

Papa is a bit funny these days. He says he is not being “weird”, whatever that is, but I still think he is being a bit funny. He would look at your picture when he thinks I’m not around. And I always have to call him a few times before he replies. He always looks as if he is somewhere else. Maybe he wants to be with you, helping other people too. I wish Papa and I can go wherever you went too. Then, we would be altogether again. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Anyway, Papa is looking at my letter, trying to read. He says he is not “peeking” but I don’t know if it is true or not. So I’ll end my letter here. I don’t want him to “peek” or there will not be any secrets between us. I’m a big boy now, so I don’t want Papa to think I’m still a little baby that needs attention. Bye bye, Mama.

Your love,
Son
11/12/2001

PS: Am I doing this right? I hope you receive my letter. But Papa says you might be so busy that you cannot reply my letter. But I know you love me, no matter where you are. And I love you too, Mama.

The man wept silently as he read his only son’s big and awkward handwritten letter. Heavens above wept together with him, coating his hair and coat with snow. He had no idea if the Heavens above pitied him and his son or it was just snow, customary in December as it was in previous years. He only wished what his son had said was true. That they could go wherever his wife was.

His son had always viewed the coming of snow with anticipation each morning, especially during December, as Christmas would mean a lot of presents and a loving family time. Even the prospect of going to school did not bother his son. But that year would be different. It had been different the moment that dreadful incident happened. He looked down at the grave in right of him.

“Our son has something to say to you, my dear,” he choked over his words as he carefully placed the opened letter with childish big handwriting on the grave. He had denied this truth for a long time, but now, it stared right back in his face. There was no running.

He broke down and cried again. This time, Heavens did not weep with him. Perhaps it was his imagination. Perhaps it happened. A gentle breeze caressed his slender form, as if pleading him to be strong. The clouds above broke apart and showered him with the gentle sunlight of the winter. Yes, he would be strong. He must be strong. Not just for himself, but also for his son. He would take over the caring of his son from his deceased wife.

But for now, he would grief over the loss of his wife. He would grief.