I look up at the sky. It’s gray. Samson looks too. He also thinks it looks gray. This does not surprise me. When Samson comes, it is almost always gray.
    “What do you want to play?” I ask.
    Samson is quiet. He doesn't know what to play. It is a good thing that I am older so I know much more about games and such. I can teach him all kinds of things.
    “How about we have a snowball fight? I will stand here,” I point to the bush by our driveway, “and you will stay there. Are you ready?”
Samson says he is ready.
“Okay, on the count of three we will start. One, two, three!” I start to throw snowballs and Samson tries to throw snowballs but his hands do not work so well so he cannot make snowballs and he begins to cry. I stop throwing and go over to him. I hug him and tell him it is okay and that we can play a different game. Samson stops crying.
I look over at our house and Mommy is standing in the window. She looks sad. I wave at her. She makes a sad smile and waves back. Samson cries a little more. He does not like it when Mommy is sad.
Mommy thinks it is her fault. She did not know I taught him how to unbuckle. She says she should have paid more attention to the road.
Samson told me that it is okay. He says he doesn’t hurt anymore. He says he doesn’t have to eat broccoli. He says that Mommy should not be sad. But she has been sad since Samson fell asleep.
Mommy misses him a lot. She cannot play with him like I can. She cannot hear him like I can. I tell her that she can come outside and see him. She says I am silly. She thinks my Samson is just a snowman.