my almost four year old asked me a question, completely unprovoked and random, only like a child knows how.

mommy, do you mean your mom died?

lunch no longer seemed so important, my feet forgot they had been planted on the lvp beneath me and the ceiling swapped places with the baseboards. something in me stopped yet my body kept moving and I replied,

um yes. she did. before you met her.

not skipping a beat he pressed the matter further, his relaxed position on the floor begged me to join him, in his innocence, in his pure desire to understand and in his nonchalant confidence to ask whatsoever crossed his mind,

I did not want her to die before I met her.

unable to stop the chicken from cooking and unwilling to let this conversation sit with me I pressed on, there were three hungry children and my husband to feed, my stomach once longed for food but now found itself full of something else. something more filling than nuggets and French fries, something I could not name, so I replied,

neither did i. I did not want that either.

he gave the television his undivided attention, still relaxed, still nonchalant. I kept making lunch, still unsure of what to say, still unwilling to search my feelings. stilled.