"Mom, what does a bomb do?"
The cold stark realization hit me that my child is growing up. He'll be a young man in not too many years from now. Why does innocence have to flee so quickly. And how do I answer that? The thought of sharing any information on it with David hurt me. I feel like it's the beginning of slow dismantle of innocent times of childhood that will never be recaptured.
"Well, they go off and hurt lots of buildings and people."
He takes a silent thoughtful moment. His little brain is always working. "What do bombs look like?"
"Hmmm..." I really hate this conversation. I suddenly want to be anywhere but there in the car having that conversation. I don't really want him to know. I hate the hurt in the world. I hate war. I hate that people have to die because someone else thinks they are right. "Well, …