“Why is it still raining? The storm finished an hour ago.”
I had taken my granddaughter for a walk in the woods. A week had passed since the funeral and she had barely spoken a word since.
“Some of the raindrops haven’t made it to the earth,” I explained. “They’ve been trapped in the leaves, waiting for the wind to knock them loose.”
“Oh. Like when you cry about something long after it’s happened,” she replied thoughtfully. “Even though time has passed, it doesn’t mean your tears have fallen.”
“Yes,” I whispered, her words and her suffering piercing my heart. “Precisely.”