Just Like That

The room was dark. As my eyes adjusted I was able to make out my niece’s face from the little bit of light that crept through the crack in the door.

Three-year-old Mikaela stirred as I curled up in bed beside her. I tried to ease into a comfortable position without waking her, but soon I found two, round brown eyes staring into mine. Her thumb tucked securely in her mouth, Mikaela rubbed her left ear. I smiled and leaned over to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. I little hand came around my neck and held me close for a moment. I squeezed back and then we settled down to go to sleep...or so I thought.

Mikaela, wide awake now, began to sing along with the music playing softly in the room.

“Jesus loves the little ones like me, me, me...”

I gave a small sigh. I wouldn’t be going to sleep for a little while.

The song ended and the next one was one Mikaela didn’t know...but I did. My heart began to ache a little bit as I recognized the song.

“This was one of my granddaddy’s favorite songs,” I whispered to Kaela.

“The wrinkled one?” Mikaela whispered back.

“No, not that one. My other granddaddy.” I sensed her confusion and added hesitantly, “He died.”

I waited anxiously for her response. How much did she understand about death?

“Aw, that’s sad.” Kaela responded sympathetically. Then she went back to sucking her thumb. Just like that.

Just like that, part of my heart was healed.

Just like that, I learned something important about grieving, about comforting, about caring, about sympathy.

Mikaela’s response was heartfelt. She really did think it was sad, but she didn’t dwell on it. She had compassion, but there was no pity. There was no deep discussion about pain and grief and whys and hows. Instead, there was a refreshing simplicity that poured like cool water over my soul.

I did cry that night, but they weren’t bitter tears this time; they were tears of healing, of letting go.

I cried, and then I went to sleep. Just like that.