My childhood friend, Lara Conley, sent me a photo of Ben tonight. He was about six. His baby tooth smile and sweet almond eyes tugged at my heart. A rush of happiness surged through me, along with the urge to kiss his plump cheeks. I hadn’t seen the photo in many years. I wrote back, “Thank you for sending! I love it! He sure was a handsome little feller!”

Was.

I said was.

It seemed the right thing to say because most people would agree, he is the capital WAS. But my chest tightened a little using the word and my eyes sprouted tears. Could I have said is? My sweet friend Lara would have approved.

He is not was to me. He is.

He may not be in my physical presence, I may not be able to see him. But my mind has to believe he still IS. Is with God. Is on another plane. Is a spirit. He is…

April will be four years. Four excruciatingly long years. And he still is. Does he ever become was? Should he ever become was? What does it mean if he does?

I haven’t used was much. I tend to avoid sentences that call for present or past tense when I write about him. Does it mean my grief is improving because I managed to strangle out the past tense, even if it pained me? Or does it just mean he’s moving further away in time so the past tense was marginally acceptable? I don’t want him to move further away.