We did our best to shelter Timmy from learning about death, so when my mother died, we told him that she was on a long trip to Grandma Island.
He wanted to go with her, like when we’d all gone to Disneyland.
“No,” I said. “Only Grandma can go to Grandma Island. It’s like Muslims and Mecca. They arrest and kill anyone who isn’t a Grandma on Grandma Island.”
At first, Timmy was sad that he’d never see his grandmother again.
Then, he wrote letters to her, and mailed them.
Sometimes, I wish she’d respond.
I miss you too, Mom.