Hope in the heart.

T he afternoon had been very long, longer than most, because we didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Even while his grandmother was dying in the hospital, Johnny refused to accept it. Now that she was gone, his denial grew stronger. The harder I tried to console him, the more he resisted. I wanted one thing—to give Johnny hope. I tried to explain to Johnny how death happens. But this eight-year-old boy was having none of what I had to say. "No! She's not dead. She's home right now. on the porch in her rocking chair." I explained to Johnny how old his grandmother was, how her life could not have gone on. "No! She wasn't that o\d. She's my granny. She does everything for me." "Maybe she wanted to be with your mother in heaven," I suggested. "No! She would never leave me. She's all I've got." Weeping and angry, he raised his small arms to fight off my words. I held him, and we rocked together in this embrace. Later, I took Johnny to his home and waited there with him for a cousin to arrive. It was a small apartment in an inner-city project. I immediately spotted the rocking chair on the small front porch. It seemed welcoming as it nestled in the shade among scattered toys. Johnny invited me to sit beside die rocking chair. Taking my seat, I found the view was most pleasant. It was already early evening, and a stillness settled all about. His little frame momentarily drooped as he glanced at the rocking chair, but then quickly he drew himself up. I could see his inner strength growing. He was enduring. Ms. Bozart is