It was the sniffling that made me turn.
There she was. Seated cross legged on the grass. Tears rolling down her cheeks.
I’d seen her around, and we had talked on occasion when her busy schedule allowed it.
There’s something about a child in distress that will make you stop what you are doing and try to help.
So I turned round and walked over to her.
And lowered myself to the grass beside her. Cross legged just like her.
“My … daddy … died.” She sobbed.
My heart broke for her.
Children should not have to experience some things. But such is life.
“My daddy died too,” I told her finally.
After some silence I looked down and realized she was looking up at me.
“Are you … sad too?” She asked.
“Yes,” I told her.
“How long does it last?” She asked finally.
After an even longer silence I answered her.
“I don’t know.” I said truthfully.
And so we sat there. On the grass. On a Sunday evening. Quietly. The shared understanding uniting and comforting us.