David likes to hit me.
It's not all so bad, though, he's only 12.
His mom died Sunday evening. She's had cancer for 5 years. She was only supposed to live about a year after she heard the news. David's mom has been dying since he was 7. He's used to it by now.
The psychologist would probably say David hits alot because that's his way of showing his emotions. It's playful hitting, but hitting nonetheless. Doctors would say he doesn't know how to show his feelings yet, so he just hits. Like a little boy on the playground who pulls the girls hair because he doesn't know how to say 'you look pretty today.'
I don't know why David hits me when I walk by. I know I'll let him keep doing it as long as he wants, because we have great conversations while we're hitting each other.
Yesterday afternoon a lid was closed; and now the only time David will see his mom again this side of heaven will be in pictures and in his memories. She was burried about an hour from here, next to her grandparents. David has two brothers, and he's the oldest. God I hope our church is more than a building. . . . . .
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