By Abby Sher
This the song my grandma used to sing to my dad. And then he sang it to me. And I sang it every day after he died. Five, ten, twenty times a day. I had to. So he would know I loved him and missed him and never wanted it to be like this.
My five-year-old is staring out the car window, murmuring something over and over again. This is how I used to do it – when I thought no one was looking. I whispered up to a patch of sky,
Please let everyone be happy healthy.
Please let everyone be healed completely painlessly soon.
Please forgive me for hurting anyone. For thinking mean things. For touching myself.
Please forgive me.
My five-year-old stops murmuring. He grins proudly.
“Guess what I just did, Mom?”
“I said fart one hundred times in a row!” he cackles. “You wanna try?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I do.”