time flies when your babies are babies

my babies aren't babies. they were, and then poof! they're not. to be two years old is such a strange thing -- mine can walk, run, almost jump, push, eat, shout. they can't talk much but they can understand every little thing. they love and hug and kiss and smack. they high-five and fist-bump. they're not babies anymore, but they're my babies! happy birthday, monkey & bear!

the sad & the happy, all at once

17 year olds shouldn't die. not by accident, or illness, or their own hand, or in war zones. a former coworker/former friend's son died this week. it was sudden and in their home. unexpected. i didn't go to the funeral and didn't visit during shiva. i couldn't, and i can't even write a note. not yet -- i hope. i will be able to but i keep having this supremely mortal feeling when i think about. what if it was MY family? what if it was ME? what if i had been closer to them, or if it happened to some i was closer to? it doesn't really matter, though, b/c it didn't happen to anyone but them and their pain must be unbelievable, ripping, searing, awful.

both my husband and i have had some close brushes/conversations with Death, and have had people close to us die. we make light of death b/c we don't like it. we joke about THE BIG C because it's been here. death makes people uncomfortable. it should make people uncomfortable but it also makes me feel lucky. it wasn't us. my kids are here. i am here. he's here. we're all here and it wasn't us. i keep telling myself that. it just doesn't make me feel less sad.