Star Stuff

“What are you doing, kiddo?” he asked his son, who stood in the backyard staring up. “Looking for Mom,” the boy replied (in that “duh” way that made you feel like you should’ve run the question through The Filter again before wasting everybody’s time with it). “Honey,” he said then, breathing … breathing … keeping it together, “you know that … “ “I know that we’re star stuff, Dad,” his son interrupted (unapologetically), “and I know that no one burned brighter, so I’m looking.” And he looked, too, in solidarity and not knowing any other way to get them back in the house. “Honey,” he said again, after a bit, jumping when the boy cried, “There! THERE!” and pointed. And there was a light, a light brighter than any of the others, a light shining in her favorite color, and it was right there. It was almost directly overhead. “I told you,” his son said, starting to cry, and they wrapped their arms around each other and held on.