It was a simple question with a loaded answer I didn't want to respond to.
"They know it's not good, they weren't too shocked, they're too old to have not noticed everything going on."
Thankfully there were no follow up questions.
How did you tell them, what did you tell them, how did they take it, was it hard to tell them... are they okay, are you okay?
Quietly and individually, everything, quietly but with loud pain in their eyes, horrid, not really, not by a long shot.
Last week, maybe the week before, I read a blog post written by someone whose writing style I happen to admire and enjoy. It spoke of how her blog is not her journal and it wasn't her place to discuss the situations of others openly and publicly even though a current situation affects her very deeply and personally. I struggle with this, wanting to tell something that isn't mine to tell, wanting to yell
See this? THIS is why I am not here. This is why you get pictures of bubble gum toes, kleenex and beer. This is why I spend a lot of time in my own world, why I read so much, am at the gym so much, eat copious amounts of Lays Carolina BBQ chips.
But, so much of what is happening, the choices being made, the plans being forged, and the detours on the path we are all being forced to walk along are closely guarded secrets. Secrets that only a handful of people know, secrets that others need to know...
But, secrets that aren't mine to tell.
It isn't good, the chances of it getting any better are barely discernible. There is only one thing left to try and if it doesn't help the path will be very rocky and then it will simply drop off into the abyss.
That is what the kids know.