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It's a lot for them.

Too much, in fact.

My kids, who are 11-1/2 and nearly 9 years old.

My kids worry about things like my breast cancer coming back.

Or their father's tonsil cancer coming back.

Or about each other.

In particular we all worry about the oldest one and his myriad neurological impairments.

If you see him on the street, he looks totally normal.

So you'd never really guess...about the tiny electrical storms that cause him to seize...or his disabilities...and his struggles.

So, to tell them about a shooting in a school in a state that is on the opposite end of the contintent from where we live?

At the ages of developmentally 5 years old and 8-10/12 years old (their father is a math professor, but I'm responsible for teaching fractions; keeps my brain sharp, yo. My youngest will be 9 in April. He's 8 and 10/12. Mmm-hmmm...really, though, he's 8 and 1/6.....Anyway......).

Nope.

They didn't need to know.

But he knows.

The younger one, who's really more developmentally advanced.

He found out about it at school.

Ya know...like they do.

At least he didn't learn how to curse at school.

I've totally fucking got that covered, bitches!

Or about sexuality.

Jesus forbid!

But rest assured he's likely to be the kid running around with his mom's....

Never mind.

So, he's bothered by it.

Doesn't understand it.

But I don't either.

I mean, I do...but I don't.

Because there are so many levels of fuckeupedness about it, that I can only bring myself to say "whenever you walk into any room, know where the exits are."

And, "if you find yourself in a situation that's scary, look for the helpers. There will always be helpers. And then find your brother."

And always, "I hope it never happens again. And if it does, I hope it's not in our community or at our school."

And every.single.time..."I love you."