The other day as I picked up the kids from school, he wanted to hold my hand. Usually on those walks back to the Casa Hogar, I keep my focus on the littlest ones or the most ornery ones for necessity’s sake. But today, 9 year old Beto was asking for my hand and my attention and the rest of the gang was surprisingly not out of control, so I let myself hang back and walk with him.
Beto is a leader, a great big brother and a boy who is seeking God already at a young age. He and his sister are the newest ones at del Norte and he is just as sweet as can be, playful, full of hugs and great at tic-tac-toe.
As I walked with his hand in mine, sporadically joined by yet another young boys hand, I watched the other older boys, closer to Beto’s age, running ahead with little to no interest in the adults who came to pick them up from school. Beto is different. I think part of it comes from his personality and I assume that the other part of it comes from the fact that he lost his mom to terminal cancer right around Easter this year.
His maturity says “I know she is better off in heaven” but to me, his little hand tightly gripped to mine says “I miss her.” I pray that holding the hand of a woman who loves him brings the slightest comfort that he needs in these months.