Sam woke up in the dark past midnight last night, because he felt there was someone tugging at his feet to wake him up. There was a little boy at the foot of the bed, saying something quietly as he was pulling on Sam’s foot. Something like, “Let me go. Let me go.” When he turned on the light Sam realized he had been dreaming. There was no little boy.
Well, there might have been a little boy. His ashes were in a small jar on our dressing table, and Sam and I had agreed that we were going to scatter his ashes equally at the four corners of the land where our house stands. There had been no talk of scattering his ashes anywhere else, this place was the only one he would have known.
Maybe there was a little boy, and that night he was reminding his Ama to let him go on Easter Sunday.
We were going to name him Saad Phoenix. He would have been baby Nico.
Easter Sunday is probably the best time to say goodbye.