"Da, who's going to be my 'early buddy' when you die?" Che asks, holding my hand as we walk her to school. "I dunno Kiddo. Ask your Mom."
Letting my hand go, Che turns towards Sarah. "Mom whose going to be my early buddy when Dad dies?"
Her eyes lock mine for a second as we share the moment.
"I have no idea Honey. I hope you'll be sleeping late by then," she answers.
Mrs. D, our tremendous crossing guard, blows a whistle, yells, "Good Morning! Come across!" so Che quickly
kisses us goodbye and joins 30 other small kids lugging huge backpacks.
Holding hands as we return home, Sarah mimics, "Who's going to be my Early Buddy?" and we burst into laughter as we dissect it.
Che was so matter of fact in how she asked, as though "Did you pack my lunch Mom?"
"Hopefully, she will be a teenager and not need an Early Buddy," Sarah quips.
We laugh again at our "Love Child" before wandering into speculation over how Che processes things.
Later, our friends Mike and Hania are passing through town and take us out to a dog friendly lunch.
"How's Che doing?" they ask.
"Well," Sarah laughs answering, "this morning she asked who's gonna be her 'Early Buddy' when Mike dies."
Hania and Mike stare with blank faces as Sarah and I crack up at the comedy of it all, until we realize we're the only ones laughing, giggle to a stop and resume talking.
We have our own language I suppose and that includes Che, who handles things in her own unique ways, like freely bringing up very practical questions.
I'm almost always up when our daughter wakes, regardless of the time, so if I'm not around to sit with her in the predawn darkness, who will?
Che has complete faith in Sarah's answer and moves on and we wait to see what she'll want to know next, amazed, proud and in marvel of the ways she works things out.
I missed her school Art show because I had to be at the Mayo Clinic for my monthly injection and a MRI. Sarah explained where I was, brushing it off as no big deal, and Che was cool with it, insisting only that she be allowed to wait up on me to get home.
We learned the test results and the cancer's grown but otherwise I'm doing great! Except for continuing to drink, I'm the perfect patient.
"Da, I don't know why but I feel like crying and taking a nap," she explains after a friend's birthday party the next day.
Sarah and I share the look and since then we're content to be together at home. Che plays with her friends but quits earlier than she used to so she can be with us.
Nothing's really changed though they'll be more trips to the Mayo Clinic in our short term future. That, and I'm not enjoying the red wine I like in the afternoon.
Putting Che to bed, Sarah and I watch a movie where, like everything we watch someone has Cancer or dies, the guy dies.
Sitting on the sofa, Sarah and I sit in silence staring at the screen.
"Well," I snicker. "That was good."
Sarah gives me the look, and our eyes meet, and I see another entire Universe full of love, and we explode in uncontrollable laughter that lingers for the longest time, well after the blackness of night.
