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He was six. Brown hair, brown eyes, with a round freckled face that longed.
His mommy had died two days earlier, in a tragic accident on her way to work.
I did not know him, we’d never met, but I knew his 16 year old sister, a friend of my daughter’s.
And she needed a break, some time with friends, time to grieve.
I offered to keep him, for the day, for a weekend, for however long she needed.
Her stepfather was too cocooned with sorrow to be of any help now.
We had a delightful play date, this darling six-year-old soldier and I.
We drank lots of pop, ate crazy amounts of sugar, cooked food, and played board games galore.
I wanted a smile. I wanted him to know that life goes on, even when your mommy doesn’t.
We both needed to play; him more than I, but my heart was aching; he was such a good boy.
His name I have forgotten. 
This was twenty-one years ago, and it was only one day.
I was worried it would take him all day to smile. I was wrong. He was six, remember?
When his sister came to get him, I did not want to let him go. 
We had become best-ies, this six year old soldier and I.
We were giggling like seven months old, at this point.
I hugged him really tightly, not wanting to ever let him go.
Anywhere without his mommy.
At the last second I yelled, “See you later, alligator.”
He turned; his face split into a giant grin. He ran back for another hug.
And he said, “That’s good! Can I USE that?”
“Use it all you want,” I said. 
I am still smiling about this boy without a name twenty-one years later.
My boy.

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