I stare at this little boy. Although he doesn’t seem so little.

He has the look of compassion on his face. A look similar to his father.

I’m speechless. I’m terrified. I’m lost.

What do I do?

“Hi there! Are you here to see my mom?” he asks me.

Before I can even answer, I’m inside. This child must see me as no threat. He grabs my hand. I am more afraid than he is.

I am lead to the living room and I sit on the couch. I analyze the boy’s features. He looks like him.

He stares back at me with compassion.

He is his father’s child.

His mother comes out of the kitchen. I am enamored by her presence. I can see why he loved her. I can feel her love and strength. But under that is a broken heart with so much pain and loss. It is buried so deep. That’s not good. Trust me I know.

She greets me warmly; almost as if she’s been expecting me. Honestly, I’m confused.

She stands me up and hugs me tight. I tense up.

She steps back and says, “I know why you’re here. I’ve been waiting for you.”

She has? What has he done? What has he showed her?

Skepticism is written all over my face and it’s obvious.

She picks up on it and begins to tell me how she knows I was coming.

“I’ve seen you in a dream. You came and told me why. Why he left us. You were sent to deliver a message.”

Boy was she right.

“I can’t help but feel like he sent you to me. To us. Did he? Please say something. Would you like some coffee? Water? Tea?” She pleads.

At this point I have been silent. I don’t know how to speak or what to say to this grieving woman who displays such hope on her face.

“He has come to me,” I whisper. “I can’t explain to you what he wants me to tell you, but I can ‘show’ you.”

“Show me?”

Without hesitation I grab her hand. She tries to pull away, but my grasp is tight as if it’s not my own.

I begin to lose myself in the pain within myself. Both my demons and his want to feed on this poor widow but I struggle to keep them at bay.

While I struggle, I send her the answers he gave me. The messages, the love, the sadness, and the begging of forgiveness.

When all that’s left is pain, I let go of her hand and feel so dizzy. So lightheaded. I’m on the verge of passing out.

My nose is bleeding as if I have some strange supernatural power. Is my work done? Can I finally die now?

I see her face– full of tears. It has clicked and I feel her relief. It’s all she wanted. She just wanted answers. I know she can put this into words for her children. Why? Because I kept the darkness away from her.

I made him a promise and I kept it.

His pain is mine and mine was his. I have no choice but to feel it. To take it. It’s welcomed.

But now, its overwhelming.

My world fades to black.

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