My boy.

Last Thursday, the far-too-young mother of Ryan's friend John suddenly passed on. Friday was a very sad day at school with the children being told, the parents being told and everyone dealing with it in their own way. John and Ryan sit close to each other in class, and Ryan missed him Friday and Monday, and told me so several times.

Yesterday was the Mom's funeral, and easily 500 people showed up to pay their respects to a sweet, loving, kind wife and mother. Ryan had originally asked to attend, but was gently talked out of it. Instead, he took it upon himself to make a card for his friend (John turns 8 today) and he wrote him a note that "is really between me and John, Mama, don't be mad." A nice little party with cupcakes and games is planned for after lunch.

In between dog-washing, soccer in the backyard, sister-tormenting, Super Bowl-watching and other weekend boy craziness, Ryan's been asking questions here and there about the situation. We answer as honestly as we can, and he's getting it. I'm also talking with him about God and our religious views on death; while our conversations have been good and he's on the same page, the tragic reason isn't lost on either of us.

This morning, on the way to school, Ryan said that he had a plan for the day, and it goes a little something like this: "First, I'm going to hug John, do a high-five, and tell him I missed him and I'm very glad he's back. Then I'll leave him alone so everyone else can be nice. At lunch, I'm going to throw a piece of my roll at him, because he and I do that sometimes when no one's looking and we laugh. Yes, I'll pick it up, Mama. Then I'm going to hug him when we go home and tell him I want to see him again tomorrow. Does that sound good?"

Yes, my sweetheart, it sounds very good.