Comfort & Joy

“Oh,” Bobby says quietly.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Daniel says. “I’ll hold your hand the whole time. We’ll light a candle for your mum. She’d like that. ”

“You won’t let go?” Bobby asks his father.

“I won’t,” Daniel promises.

Bobby looks at me. “You’ll stay with me?”

“Of course. ”

Bobby takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go. ”

Awash in light, the church looks like a small white jewel against the royal blue sky.

We stand on the sidewalk out front, Daniel and I, with Bobby between us. All around us, people are talking to one another and funneling up the stone steps to the church.

“Don’t let go, Daddy. ”

“I won’t,” Daniel says.

They’re a pair now, the two of them, holding fast.

Like Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and the Cowardly Lion, we advance cautiously up the sidewalk toward the steps, which we take one at a time.

An elderly priest is positioned at the door. He smiles at the sight of Bobby.

“Welcome back, young Robert,” he says, his eyes bright. “We missed you. ”

Bobby nods in answer and doesn’t slow down. I can see how nervous he is, but he keeps moving. One foot in front of the other.

“You’re a brave boy,” I say, feeling a swell of pride for this child who is learning young to fight his fear.

He leads us into the back row and slides into the pew. I know he wants to be close to the door. Daniel and I bookend him, give him safety on both sides.

As people pour into the church and fill up the pews, Bobby stands as straight as a newly cut board. He doesn’t sit until the processional begins and the doors behind us bang shut.

It is then, when the pews are full and the doors are shut and the priest is blessing the congregation, that I realize how much I have missed my own faith. I haven’t been in church since my mom’s funeral.

For the next hour, we rise and kneel and rise again, and with each word spoken, each prayer reiterated, I feel a bit of myself return.

At the conclusion of The Lord’s Prayer, Bobby looks up at his dad and whispers: “C’n Mommy hear me in here?”

“She can hear you everywhere,” Daniel answers.

Bobby scrunches up his face and says, “I’m sorry I was mad at you, Mommy,” all in a single breath.

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I hear Daniel gasp. “Oh, Bobby . . . ”

Bobby’s eyes glisten as he looks at his dad. “I told her I hated her. ”

Daniel touches his son’s face, wipes his tears away. “She knows how much you love her, boyo. No silly fight can change that. ”

The words are exactly what Bobby needs to hear. For the first time, I see his true smile. It lights up his face, shows off all of his crooked, missing, and growing teeth.

When a hymn begins, Bobby turns to the right page in the hymnal, and joins his clean, high voice with his father’s.