I used to work in a preschool. One of the splendid moments every day is watching children and parents reunite. No matter whether the kids have had a fabulous time making ice cream, or buying a treasure at the thrift store, or reaching for the third rung on the monkey bars, seeing the person who loves them through and through never stops being a miracle. Eyes get wider as kids and grown ups fling their arms around each other, eager to say the really important things all at once, like "See what I made!" and "I missed you!" and "I love you!"

 

I once went to a funeral where the minister suggested that the reason kids around the world play hide and seek, and peek a boo, is because we all have a deep craving for reassurance that the people we love most will come back.  That aching reaches across the grave as well. We need, perhaps more than anything, to know that this person we have twined our hearts around is not gone forever. 

 

For years it was an Achilles heel in our relationship when I did not know when or if John was coming back. Once he took the kids to a movie and I mentally predicted the time of his arrival home. That time came and went. I started sweating, pacing and flinging things at the clock, but he still did not walk through the door.

 

I called my firstborn son in California.

 

"Dad is dead. I know it."

 

"What happened?" he asked, somewhat familiar with my overreacting. 

 

"He went to see Harry Potter with the kids at 7:00, and now it is 10:45. He is never coming back!" I wailed.

 

Lukas asked, "What theater was it?"

 

"Neshaminy. I can't even drive around to look for the crashed car because the twins are asleep."

 

"I will check online and call you back," he said. Three minutes later the phone rang. I snatched it up, expecting a cold, unfeeling policeman to tell me the news. 

 

"Mom, the 7:00 show sold out, he went to the 9:00 one, and he will be back in, oh fifteen minutes." He sounded calm.

 

"Really?" I felt a bubble of hope. 

 

"Yup, I am sure."

 

He did walk in, full of stories and laughter, right when Lukas predicted. 

 

Although I do have an advanced case of autophobia, many people do hunger for reassurance that the person they care most about will return.

 

Feel free to mention it.