The Contradictite

["We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." - Cecil Day-Lewis] How do you explain death to a kid? I mean, it’s one thing to swat a fly or squash a spider, and it’s completely another to explain why the goldfish stopped swimming around and now just bobs at the top of the bowl. Why did kitty fall asleep, and when will she wake up? When will grandma get back from heaven? But to explain death, as in, you’re going to die. You have less than three months. The doctor’s don’t know how to fix it. This is it. You’ll find out where all those flies and spiders and fish and kitties and grandmas went. But how do you explain that to somebody who doesn’t even understand life? Eating, sleeping, playing, Ninja Turtles . How do you go from that to hospital beds and drip bags and monitors and doctors and nurses and needles and charts? My wife and I talked, off hand, before any of this was a reality. What would we do if he was diagnosed with some terminal illnes...

Barry stopped his car outside of Alba’s house. He took a deep breath before leaving the car. He had a feeling that today would have its fair share of hiccups.  He knocked on her door. A few moments later she opened the door. Her face was all smiles and she wore the flowery dress that Barry said he had liked at one point. “You’re a bit early,” she said. “It runs in my family,” he said. He gave her his best smile. “Are you ready?” “Are you?” she said. She grabbed her purse and a shawl and followed him to the car. He opened the passenger door for her. “I guess I am,” he said, once they were both seated and buckled in.  “You’re what?” she said. “Ready. You know,” he said. “It’s not every day you meet my family for the first time.” He chuckled. “Relax, Barry,” she said. “Everybody’s family is a little weird. It’s part of their charm.” “You’re right,” he said after another breath. “Well, let’s get going then.” They drove on for a while in silence, until Alba said s...