We were listening to the radio when the announcer began to discuss the terrorist bombing in Afghanistan followed by a soulful rendition of Amazing Grace for the loss of life.

The movement of the song, the tragic deaths and the plight of the Afghan people brought tears to my eyes, the suffering on all sides was suddenly right in our Tennessee home, from over seven thousand miles away.

Baby Brother continued with his work, picking up Play-Doh containers and trying to pry them open. Little Legs, however, stopped peeling and placing stickers on his dump truck.

He looked up and asked, “Mama ok?”

“People died in another country, and it is making me feel sad,” I muddled through an explanation of the events, carefully omitting words like suicide bomber and terrorist.

How does one begin to explain the way of the world to a young and impressionable person? What is too much, too soon, too little, too late? We are still working on things like the alphabet and wearing underwear. Death was only introduced recently after our beta fish, Blue, floated upside down and was flushed to fish-heaven.

Little Legs thoughtfully reflected, “People died.”  

He then repeated this to a random lady at Starbucks, Grandpa on a Google Duo call and then Daddy Longlegs on his lunch break, which brought the conversation, quite literally, back home.

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