After Timmy had been bathed and dressed in clean clothes, I guided him back to our bedroom so we could chat. I still had no idea what I was going to tell him. I mean, how do you tell a four-year-old that his mother is dead? That she gave her life to save us?
Timmy followed me sheepishly down the hallway, holding my hand. His jeans were a bit big, dragging along the ground as he walked behind me, creating a sliding noise against the floor as he padded along the hallway.
"Come here, Munchkin," I said, setting him on the edge of the bed. I rolled up the hem of his jeans, which would help him to walk easier. "Are you okay, buddy?"
Timmy nodded his head. "Yes, sissy."
"Let's put your shoes on, okay?" I asked as he nodded. I hoped he wouldn't ask me about Mom again. I had already decided
