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A Child's Question

By Cynthia L. B. Bogear

We sat on the porch that day,
Waiting for my friend to come,
As we laughed and made silly faces,
And sipped on sweet tea.

He asked me what the bag was for.
I simply said "Mommy goes to work today".
He really didn't understand,
Cause he was only three.

The first chance I called,
He asked "Mommy when are you coming home?"
I always told him that it would be soon,
For mommy had a job to do.

The days passed by so quickly.
The holidays came and went.
He asked "Mommy when are you coming home?"
I said "Mommy crawls in the dirt today".

My job was simple,
Complete my mission no matter what.
I was a soldier for my country,
And for my son.

One day the rain of heat came down,
We couldn't make it out.
We fought as hard as we could,
But there were too many.

I never made my last call home,
But he was told I was there.
As he prayed at bed,
He had to ask a question.

He looked towards heaven,
He said "God Mommy went away,
Can you tell me one thing?
When is mommy coming home?"

A voice whispered so soft and tender,
"My child your mother is with you.
She loved you so and stays in your heart.
She still watches over you."

He said "Thank you God,"
As he crawled into bed.
He kissed his picture goodnight,
And faded off to sleep.

Others have asked this question.
Children of all ages pray at night.
They simply have to ask,
A child's question.

Written 05 September 2005

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