Bifrost

By Laurie Herlich

I watch the sun rise through the mist, creating an early morning rainbow. The colors glow, and in my awe, I forget the mug I hold. The clatter shatters my reverie, and I blink at the shards on the concrete. I will sweep that up later. For now, I am lost in wonder contemplating Bifrost, and the Norse legend of a rainbow bridge. On his eight-legged horse, Odin would travel that bridge between Earth and Asgard, their version of heaven.

Tears sting my eyes. The doctors must have a way to keep Timmy from crossing that bridge. They must. I straighten my shoulders. This is why we moved across the country—to get better medical care for Timmy. I am so grateful for the way God moved to have us inherit this lovely old farmhouse right when we needed it.

I hear a frightened cry. The narrow staircase creaks as I take the stairs two at a time. I lift Timmy from his crib and clasp him in my arms, smoothing his damp hair and cooing to him. He relaxes and looks up at me with tears lingering in his blue eyes.

“Momma, I hear horsies.”

I spin slowly around, gazing at the 360-degree mural in what Aunt Marie appropriately calls the Cowboy Room.

“Hush, my sweet. Of course, you were dreaming of horsies. Look at all the cowboys and horses around you. Here’s your cowboy hat and you’ve already got your Roy Rogers PJs on. I’ll cook us a real cowboy breakfast.”

Bacon and egg burritos take just a few minutes to cook up. I look up as I bring the fragrant, steaming platter to the table. My small son is astride his rocking horse, the springs give him a ride like a bucking bronco. He waves his cowboy hat in the air and giggles with glee.

Later, Timmy cries and shies away from being poked and prodded by new doctors. I whisper softly, “Just a little more and we can visit some real horsies.”

The shadow of a smile curls the edges of his lips.

That afternoon, waving at the horses through the fence wipes his tears away. My tears are not as easily soothed; the doctors are not encouraging with their prognosis.

Shortly after midnight, I hear Timmy calling for me again. I rush into his room. “Hush, my darling, it’s just a dream. Momma’s here now.”

“Momma, I hear horsies laughing, and they come right up to me. Momma, they are so big!”

“You must be remembering the horses we saw this afternoon.”

“They’re real, Momma. They sniffled at me with their big, big noses. The cowboys asked me if I wanted to ride on the white one.”

Timmy snuggles into my shoulder. I find the rocking chair in the dark and soothe him back to sleep. His little body relaxes, and I place him into bed.

I creep back to my own bed, praying for my little son. A cool breeze drifts from the open window; I pull up my blanket and am asleep before I know it.

I awake to the sun and to my bed bouncing like a bucking bronco.

“Timmy, how did you get out of your crib?” Did I leave the guard down last night?

“The cowboys let me out Momma.”

“The cowboys?”

“The ones in my room.”

My little cowboy has such vivid dreams. At least he is not as preoccupied with his medical issues as I am.

“Come, sweetie. I’ll make us breakfast, and we can visit the real horses after the doctor.”

“No doctor, Momma. Just horsies.”

My cowboy rides the hobby horse, not quite as vigorously as yesterday, but he still manages to wave his cowboy hat in the air.

The doctors are even less encouraging. They recommend we call hospice in the morning. We visit the horses again. Timmy doesn’t even climb down from my arms, but he waves to the steeds.

As I put him in bed, something catches my attention. The side of the crib is down, but I didn’t lower it. How could Timmy have figured that out? My eyes travel to the cowboy mural. Was there always a rainbow over the dusty trail? Worry is playing mind games with me. I place my weary cowpoke in his bed.

“I love you, Momma. I will tell the cowboys you say howdy to them.”

“I love you, Timmy. Have pleasant dreams. I will see you in the morning.”

“I’m gonna ride the white horse tonight, Momma.”

I kiss his soft cheek.

I can hardly breathe, never mind sleep, hiccupping and gasping for air between sobs.

Before dawn, I climb the stairs to check on Timmy. He lies peaceful and still under his covers when I lean through the doorway, and I release a soft sigh. I wait a moment more, listening for his breathing. But there is none. I can hardly catch my own breath, and I rush to his side.

I check his pulse and clasp him in my arms. His little body is cold and still, and I hold him as tightly as I can. My heart thumps in my chest, and my breath comes in gasps. My tears run down my cheeks and wet my little boy’s hair. How can he be gone already?

Did I hear a horse whinny? I hear a giggle and turn around slowly. There, on the mural is a white horse galloping away. On his back rides a tiny cowboy, waving his hat in the air.

I sit heavily in my rocking chair, listening to the rain, holding my sweet son for one last night. As the sun rises, the mist creates another rainbow. Bifrost. I imagine my little cowboy riding his white horse up the bridge to heaven.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Laurie Herlich loves living in rural northeast Tennessee, where Story is everything. She writes flash fiction and cozy mysteries in a converted garden hut situated in her backyard. Laurie is a regular contributor to Christian Devotions and is a finalist for a Selah award in the online devotion category. She is also a contributor to Jonesborough, Tennessee’s StoryTown NPR Radio Show/Podcast, and is an intern with the Jonesborough Storytelling Guild.

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