Supplements

By means of explaining what the past month has been, a series of vignettes:

1. Prepping for the funeral, MlleL asks "Mama, when the daddy puts the seed in the mama to start a baby, how does he put it in there? Does he.... (mimes swallowing something)" (Aaaaaaa!) I figure that when they're ready to ask, they're ready to know, so I answered in a way I thought she could understand - and vague enough for me to be ok with it. We came up with something along the lines of 'privates kissing'.

"Does it hurt?" she asked. "Umm, no," I said, "it's nice. It's like kissing, right? Kissing's nice." "Ok," she says, and we continue dressing.

2. After weeks and weeks and weeks of tough training seemingly only getting worse (you guys, says a colleague. You take it so seriously. It should be fun. Sweetness and light. Last time was sweetness and light, I say, this time is all pain and darkness. Only I really am telling the truth.) I am rejected from donating blood for the second time in a row. I am low on iron. Apparently, really low. Enough for a surprised noise from the nurse rejecting me.

3. Regardless, I stop in at Running Room to pick up supplies. Because I am convinced that somehow, if I just eat enough carbs and try harder, I can force my legs do what they are seemingly physically incapable of doing. Running Room staff and coaches explain just what exactly it means to be anemic and try to train. And also offer very supportive advice on how to deal with the disappointment of not running the half marathon. Because this is also a large part of the advice.

4. During a particularly sad and hungry day, I run into an colleague, who claims shock at my weight loss. Of which, I stress, there has been none in a year, but she grabs my wrist, and in a way that only someone who has known you for a long time can, pokes me in the place between my ear and jawbone to prove her point. Somehow, this makes me feel miles better.

5. I am driving MlleL to shopping, and she says "K is afraid of having a baby." K is the 4 year old at her day care. "Oh?" I say? "She's afraid of the blood." She tells me. "She's afraid of it hurting, but I told her what you told me. I told her that it wouldn't hurt. Because the daddy will be gentle, right?" "WHAT?" "When he pokes the seed up your vagina. He'll be gentle, right?"

"Uh... Yeah....... Sweetie, are you telling K about having babies?" "Yeah....."

Oh god. Oh, God. My kid is that kid. THAT kid in school!!!

Drama!!

oh my goodness.

I was going to be writing another whine about being sick, and tired, and one of the worst fibro streaks in recent memory (seriously. It hurt to wear clothes and use my powder brush. Shit.)

But right now?

RIGHT NOW???

I can't breathe, because I'm watching Finn sing 'Jesse's girl'. Um.

Can't talk.

Passing

If I were a character in Harry Potter, I'd be able to see thestrals now.

This is what I'm thinking to myself in the hospice room. Only what I'm really thinking is those scary skeleton horses, because I can't remember the official name because my father in law just died.

It was like a breath of air that wasn't, his passing.

We were all there, and then suddenly, he wasn't.

And we were all alone together in our grief.

Thank you, I told him moments earlier, for letting me be a part of this family. I am blessed, I told him, to have had you as my Pop too. We will miss you so much, I said, but we will be ok. We will always, always love you.

I'll see you again, he had told me a few days earlier, during his last words to me, I love you.

That's a promise, I had said, smiling at him over my shoulder on my way out the door.