Uncle Richie

 "I was digging a grave when God spoke to me," Uncle Richie said

while pushing me on a swing, making the world veer crazily. "I told Him, 'I'm working. What's so important?' " Uncle Richie was lying on his side on the laminate, adding another Lego to our castle's tower when he added, "He told me that wanting love but believing I had never had it, was like sandpaper against my heart." I thought about that while offering Theodore Bruin some tea, though the teacup was empty. "Sometimes you have to pretend," I said to Uncle Richie where he sat, knees higher than my play table. "I was digging a grave for a woman named Helen Mendenhall," Uncle Richie continued as we lay on the fragrant lawn while the sun went down. "She was wonderful--quiet, self-contained, unavailable. My type." "What if God is like Theodore Bruin?" I asked Uncle Richie when he paused from reading Frog and Toad Are Friends to me at bedtime. He looked sad so I held out Teddy. "Your type! You can have him if you want!" Uncle Richie leaned in and hugged me, with Theodore between us. Then he closed the book, got up, looked back once and winked. "Love ya Uncle Richie," I said. "Yeah," he said, and left the door ajar.