Church was... weird. Turns out that Liam, the two-year-old who died, actually died of a congenital defect that no one had picked up on until this time. It just failed him. So there was no accident, no lack of watching, and in some odd 'best' way, no guilt for anyone. Maybe it was just oddly reassuring, in some way, that it's not impossible to keep track of a two-year-old and keep them as safe as humanly possible. There were simply things no one could foresee. That left 'just' the loss itself.
And everyone felt it. The whole congregation was depressed, and Jet surprised me by trying to cheer *everyone* up. He clowned, he threw kisses, he hugged people that he normally shys away from, he smiled, he waved, and he played peekaboo with everyone that looked down in the mouth. He ate powdered sugar donuts and ran around with a huge, white grin.
It's odd seeing in a two-year-old the drive to make other people feel better, when so many adults were so wrapped up in their own sorrow. It's very cool, too, to know that he knew he could make people smile by doing all that, and that it was a good thing. He seemed to enjoy getting people to feel better.
The family who had lost the boy wasn't there. Probably a good thing, they didn't need to have everyone *else* be depressed around them all the time. Instead, we found them, on Sunday, after church, at the Longmont Rec. Center swimming. *grin* Their older boy was having a blast in the pool and that seemed a very, very wise thing to be doing.
Jet had fun, too, and in the car, afterwards, he was very happily, very still, and very tired. It was really funny having him grin big at me, even with his eyes closed while he was half asleep. A very busy, very happy, very tired boy.