Chocolate sampler from "Chocolate for a Woman’s Spirit"

David’s Surprise
by Emily Sue Harvey

January 31, 1974, was an incredibly sunny, warm day. It was also the day my perfect life came crashing down around me. My husband Lee and I were at home with our seven-year-old son, David, when the horrible news came: our Angie, eleven, had been killed in an accident, along with a teenage girl my two daughters had been visiting.

What anguish...What unimaginable devastation.

Immediately, amid the deluge of loss, I pictured David and Angie bike-riding together over sandy trails during the six months we'd lived in Shiloh, or playing Old-Maid cards or embarking upon Password's more serious challenge. While our independent Pam, thirteen, sought privacy, the two younger siblings had bonded closely in this tranquil, rural setting. Gentle patience marked Angie's attitude toward her sometimes bumbling little brother. Now, what would David do without his doting sister?

What would I do without my little nursemaid? Oh God, how would I get through it? How could I let go?

The following days blurred as family rallied and loving, caring people came and went. Slowly, I noticed that David seemed set apart from the grim drama. His face gave no indication that he felt the enormity of what had happened.

Fear hit me. Would he forget her? From my fog of pain, I honestly didn't know what to say to him, and when I tried--something always stopped me.

Days later, I noticed he'd moved on to more play activity. Annoyance pierced my haze of grief when I noticed him digging on our property's back corner, actually a low-country sand hill with marshy sod in places. His area of interest sloped away and downward, out of sight from the kitchen window. Amid visits from condolence bearers, I was aware of the backyard toil and wondered, vaguely, what make-believe fantasy held him captive.

At first, his solitary activity didn't seem extraordinary, since David now had no steady playmate. Simply a time-passing, energy-spending diversion, I concluded, and proceeded with life-motions and the grieving process.

Day in, day out, David continued to trudge over the hill, digging from sun-up til sundown. Perplexed, I asked him, "What's going on?"

"It's a surprise," he informed me matter-of-factly. He'd always been the fun-seeking adventurer of the family. But now, quite frankly, his enthusiasm stirred my anger. After all, he never even mentioned Angie. I certainly didn't expect him to anguish as I did, but it didn't seem right somehow that he ignore her absence.

One day, young friends visited. David merely put them to work. From the window, I gaped at kids scurrying about like beavers, toting buckets of water and split timber pieces (from a stack of fire-wood) and disappearing over the slope. When David ran in for a drink of water, I caught him by his muddy sleeve.

"What in the world are you guys doing?"

He smiled that enigmatic smile now so familiar. "You'll see, Mom."

Finally, days later, David dashed into my room. "Mama! It's ready!" His blue eyes danced with excitement. He grabbed my hand, pulling me from folding laundry, through the hall, out the door, his grin stretching wider and wider "Wait till you see it!" He continued to tug me up the hill, down the slope, then right to the digging sight.

I stopped dead in my tracks. My mouth fell open in wonder.

He looked up at me, beaming with pride. "I made it for Angie."

There, before my eyes was a miniature pond. A small bridge of stacked split logs formed a crude ramp, big enough for one to walk right out to the center of the cove.

From atop a tall pole on the water's shallow shore flapped a white banner-sign. Meticulously printed in David's neat handwriting, it read: ANGIE SHILOH POND.

"Well, Mama, what do you think about it?" He gazed expectantly at me.

I was so choked I couldn't say anything. Emotions invaded, pummeled me. Grief, pride, love, admiration...shame. How could I have questioned David's depth of love for Angie? I felt like sinking into the marsh and never coming up.

Suddenly, I understood why I'd not been able to talk with him about it: God was telling me to entrust David into His capable hands.

I swallowed audibly and groped for words. "I think it's a very sweet gesture. Angie would be so proud to know that you built this in her honor." Oh, so proud.

Later that night, David called me to his room, and as he dressed for bed, I sat beside him. The warmth of the shared afternoon lingered.

"Mama, you know why I built that pond, don't you?" As he tugged off his sock, I noticed the grubby, calloused little hands.

"I think so, honey, but why don't you tell me anyway."

"Well--I just had to do something, y'know--big." Blue eyes turned up to my face. And that's when I saw the sorrow in their depths. And, the dark shadows beneath them.

"She didn't have much of a life, did she?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Eleven years isn't long to live, is it?" He grimaced as he pulled off his other sock. "That's why I couldn't just do a--dime thing. I wanted to do a--a dollar thing." He grew still for a long moment, reflecting solemnly on that. " I think she knows, Mom."

I nodded, too choked to speak, grasping his second-grade logic. Such was his love for his sister.

For at least a month after our talk that night, David carried water daily to Angie's Pond, as soft sand rather quickly soaked it up. Of course, I knew this could not continue indefinitely. As his "do something" grief phase ebbed, Angie's little pond eventually dried up. David moved on to yet other healing and acceptance stages.

For months, I allowed the banner and the rough-hewn bridge to remain on our yard's secluded back corner. I couldn't bring myself to part with it. Rain faded the letters and the wood began to crumble but the message remained alive. Time passed and it continued to comfort me.

Late one afternoon, I stood on the ramp in the silence. And then, birdsong penetrated my haze, sweetly transcending me to a plane of peace. I knew in that moment that though David's grief was not always visible, his tribute to Angie surpassed all others combined. I knew also that his gift extended to me.

If David could turn loose, so could I. A soft breeze ruffled my hair and drew my damp face upward. I looked beyond the tall pines into frothy white clouds and infinite blue.

I realized this visit to the pond would be my last.

Because I knew what David, with a child's simplicity, already knew: In the Lord, we never truly lose someone we love.

I blew a kiss and whispered, "I love you, Angie." I turned and walked away.