THE DAWNING OF DEATH
By Michael Dean Cook
It was the viewing day at the funeral home
for my youngest son, almost age twenty-four.
He always had a way of warming up to little kids.
There was a little girl playing around and under his casket. She tugged at her mom, and I heard her ask,
“Why won’t Ryan play with me”? Her mom bent down
And said a few words to her.
I saw a shadow of realization on the child’s face.
Then, she began to cry.