March 07, 2001

I lower Tom from my arms into his bed, and Joanne pulls a blanket over him. 

"Goodnight, Thomas," she says.

I lean over and kiss him on the cheek.  "Dream good dreams."

Tom smiles and closes his eyes and sinks into the pillow, and we turn out the light and close the door and stand for a moment outside, listening to the silence that has fallen over the house.  Mike breathes quietly from the next room, asleep for an hour now, and the whole world seems finally, blissfully at peace.

Joanne smiles at me and as we walk back down the stairs, she says, "We are just so the freakin' Cleavers."

 



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