Making a Saint out of a Serial Killer

     


       He is so peaceful and serene, lying seemingly asleep. My son, the saint. Or my son the serial killer? 
In death he seems so perfect. In this state he is perpetually innocent. He will never have the chance to live, to live up to his full potential. 
       In all our mourning what could have been, it strikes me as odd sometimes that I assume the best of him. 
Every day I watch Griffin's sisters, a product of the same two parents and similar circumstances, and know they have their ups and downs. I can't tell you how many times I have seen them from the corner of my eye, or even the eye in the back of my head, doing something they think is so sly. Sneaky, mischievous, downright wily at times, those three little girls can be little devils. Most of the days end though, with my kissing their downy heads in bed, whispering goodnight to them as angels.
       Every night the same holds true for my son. Whispered kisses and prayers, silent "I love you's" and thoughts of him with tiny wings.
       Would he really have been an angel here on earth? I doubt it. I have been waiting for a hellion...maybe it was him? My girls have tried my patience sure, on an hourly basis and regularly, but I have been waiting for the one child that makes me stop in my tracks or run screaming for the hills. I have watched other mothers out with their kids, observed tantrums and fits not unlike some I have managed myself, and I have seen some challenging children. Would I have been cursed with a scheming little shyster, an impish instigator, a trouble-making terror?
       I'm sure you think not. I like to think that way too. I like to look at that perfect face, think of him as a cheeky cherub, a small bit of sass like his sisters but no blatant disrespect. A touch adventurous and plucky, loud like his momma and with his daddy's quick laugh, there is not a lot of room in my mind for worry that he could be anything awful. In all the wondering of what might have been though, and all the unknown of what will come in our lives, I couldn't let his persona slip by without that second thought, the who and how he could have been...

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