The entire church fell still as the youngster laid his ear against his mother’s coffin and mumbled something.
Colleagues, friends, and family had come together to honor Grace, a cherished mother and teacher.
John, her ten-year-old son, was seated by his father in the front row, a small folded paper boat in his palm. He had learned to fold it with his mother, and it was a priceless memento, a last link to her.
Everyone talked of Grace’s knowledge, generosity, and steadfast love for children, and how she had impacted their lives.
John got up and approached the casket with his father when it was time to say farewell. He pressed his ear to it and spoke in a low voice. The congregation was suddenly enveloped in utter quiet.
Unable to think of anything to say, everyone became silent.
John’s little body shook slightly as he knelt next to the coffin.
He pressed his ear to the casket. There was a somber pause for a few moments until he said, “Mom, I’ll be brave and I’ll look out for dad too.” I swear.
The emotion hung in the air, and everyone stayed still.
Then, with a little sigh, he got to his feet, tears in his eyes that he dared not shed.
As though this gesture promised a lifetime of love, he gave his father the paper boat, which he took carefully.
With all the power a child can muster while bearing the weight of a mother’s love that he would never lose, the boy grasped his father’s hand and gazed at him.
Grace had not truly left.
In every memory her son would treasure, she continued to exist.
