Jacob came into my room this morning around 6:15 with his (stuffed) puppy and snuggled up with me. He was having some dreams that bothered him. He was whispering the details to me, so I couldn't make out everything he said, but I think I got the main idea...
In his dream, Matt's face was bloodied from the accident. Jacob wanted to hear the story again of how it happened, and what happened to him. I explained as best I could, in a way that I felt he could handle and understand at this point.
"There was a big machine that has a big pipe attached to it that sucks in air from inside a little room, and Daddy went into the room. You know how the vacuum cleaner hose sucks in air? That's kind of what it was like, but the pipe is a lot bigger than a vacuum cleaner hose and sucks in air a lot faster and harder. Daddy got sucked up against the pipe so fast and hard that it killed him, but he didn't feel any of his boo boos because he died right away. ...I'm so glad you talked to me about this."
I can only pray I'm right about that last part.
It is so unfair that my children have to have these thoughts, these dreams, these concerns, this pain.