The weekend was filled with people coming to our house to pay their respects. Friends and family trickled in and out, and it was comforting to have them around.
Sabrina knew people were visiting because Zadie had died, and kept asking her questions about death ("Is Zadie still dead today?"). Max didn't get what was going on. His thoughts this weekend centered around one thing: the kiddie trailer that attaches to Dave's bike. We'd taken it out to see how it survived the winter in the damp garage, and Max only wanted to be driven around in it. Luckily, there were extra chauffeurs on hand. We tucked Max in with a Snuggie and Dave, my brother-in-law, and my sister-in-law took turns carting him around. Max would have spent the night in that trailer if we let him (although, hmmm, it might cure his co-sleeping habit).
Today, as Max whizzed around the neighborhood yet again, I was a little preoccupied with the fact that he didn't understand something had happened to Zadie. Is that weird? Grief does strange things to you. I wanted to honor my father this weekend by all of us remembering and commemorating him.
But that comprehension is not where Max is right now. There I was, once again imposing my hopes for Max's abilities onto his reality.
I had a sit-down with my heart. I said, in no uncertain terms, that Max honored my father by being his usual cheerful self and by lifting the spirits of everyone around him. That was his tribute.
I hope my father, wherever he is, knows that.