I had arrived back home from the funeral, late, out of feelings and exhausted from fighting with my luggage and the crowds (flight was packed), and I was relaxing solemnly, totally drained of any external thoughts or concerns, slinking into my private hermit shell, spinning some Hendrix my cousin gave me, still not allowing even an exploratory tear, when my eight year old son comes up, being all supportive and stuff, and places his arm gently across my shoulders. Caressing my neck, he sighs and lets our heads touch, he mutters a few "anything I can do"s and a couple of "glad you're back"s and a "hope you feel better" then, after a long thoughtful pause, lovingly asks, "Did you find out why aunt Liz carc'ed out?". I asked, "Carc'ed out?" and he replied, "Yeah, carc'ed out. Why did she become a carcass, anyway?"
I totally let go at that. I laughed so hard I pulled a tired muscle in my abdomen (I've gotten about five hours of sleep in three days) and finally I cried a few stale-with-old-salt tears, which made me feel really fresh again, being rid of them. Life goes on and my private hermit shell is still vacant, for now.
The little man is awesome!
