The sweetness of 3-year-olds

Once a month, Miss Teresa comes to our house to help me do a thorough cleaning. She has been coming to our house since a week or so before Cary and Dean were born, when I hired her to do the nesting I wanted to do but couldn't with my big, pregnant-with-twins belly. I thought then she'd be a one-time hire. As you can see, she's been with us for three years now.

Last month, for the first time ever, Miss Teresa had to cancel her scheduled cleaning. Her daughter texted me and told me that her grandfather, Miss Teresa's father, had died.

Miss Teresa came to our house yesterday. It was the first I'd seen her since he died. The sadness was palpable in the room. Her angular frame was slumped as she went quietly about her work. Her eyes looked tired.

As she finished up, we hugged and I told her -- as best I could, since she speaks limited English and I speak absolutely no Polish -- that I was so sorry about her Dad and that I would be praying for her. Miss Teresa, old enough to be my own mother, collapsed into me like a child would, and cried.

Her father was only 78, she said. Too young to die. It had been 9 years since she'd seen her "Daddy." And she wasn't able to afford a plane ticket on such short notice, so she missed his funeral. She was so sad.

Of course, I started crying too. We stood there in my living room, trying to understand one another's words, but succeeding more fully in understanding loss, regret and a father's love.

Cary and Dean were around - of course. They were mesmerized by this uncommon show of adult emotion.

Finally, after some time, Dean spoke up.

"Miss Teresa is sad?" he asked.

"Yes," I told him. "Miss Teresa's father died. She won't get to see him anymore and so she is sad."

"Miss Teresa's father died? Like Don Gato?" Dean said, referring to one of their favorite songs at the moment.

"Yes," I said. "Like Don Gato."

He sat and thought for awhile. He looked at Miss Teresa and smiled.

Then he tapped me on the leg and whispered.

"Our Daddy can come to her house," he said.

Miss Teresa coudn't understand him well enough to get that he was offering up to her his most precious gift - his own father.

But I did.

And I hugged my boy and loved him just a tiny bit more.