When Ben Comes Home
Mommy, when Ben comes home, I’m going to show him this book.
You’re such a good brother, I would say.
This conversation or something very similar would happen more times than I could count. And probably for at least the six weeks following Ben’s death. This was just one of many questions or innocent thoughts I had from my then three-year-old son about his brother.
A Boy Named Ben.
Benjamin Robert. He was beautiful. Round face and big cheeks. Longest eye lashes I’d ever seen. And a smile so bright that could bring so much joy. He was my heart and my soul. My son.