The first person to invite me into her New York Home was a mom of one of Boy's friends. I was hunting for Boy and she was barbecuing and she asked me to stay. I've gone over a grand total of three times in the year we've lived here, not because we don't get along, but because I'm slow. I don't want to bug her, and I haven't put any effort into figuring out how to get together without wasting her time because she's a mother of four.
Now she's the mother of three living children, and one little guy who died at the age of five. He got sick and died in the space of a day. Perhaps it was the flu. Perhaps it wasn't.
It is all I think about all day; what they must be going through, what could have happened, what needs doing in their house, etc. I sent Boy over with a note to tape to their door saying we'd watch their dog, since I knew they'd be having lots of family over and their dog is a barker. This morning we went over to get the dog, and even though I barely knew her kiddo we hugged and cried.
I got Peanut squeezed into the Drs office for her second flu shot today. Raw milk suddenly seems like a bad idea to me. I won't be going back to the UU Church until, maybe, June. Every time I leave the house I spend the drive planning ways not to bring germs home with me. Boy wants to walk down the street to go play with friends like he always does, but what with the snow storm and all I can't feature him walking down the dangerous road by himself.
Boy asked me if I was turning into a nut job.
I can't help it. When I imagine what's going on for their family, I imagine us going through that, and the truth is that it is just sheer dumb random luck that has kept it from being our nightmare instead of theirs. How could I not go a little nuts?
Going to wash my hands,