Forever

Lately Ira has taken to answering everything I tell him with the question: "Forever?" I get it, in some cases. Like when I say he's in Time-Out, he asks "Forever?" in a whiny voice, as he stomps off to the chair. But sometimes, like when I say: "Climb up at the table so I can pass you your bowl of pineapple" or "It's time to pick up Eli" or "Go in and use the potty" and he queries, "Forever?" I just don't understand. Or maybe I do. Maybe he wants to know if I'll always be here, and we'll always be doing the same, familiar things, but he doesn't know how to ask. I hate that he might be unsure.  I hate that we  aren't together all the time anymore.  I hate that our life now makes him wonder where his next meal is coming from, literally. (Or who anyway.) Back and forth, back and forth. Having little concept of time, "Where are we tonight?" Ira has whispered at five AM as he wakes up and reaches out for my braid in the semi-darkness. "Who has us for Easter?" Eli wants to know. They are my babies. I tell them I love them every day, because I'm scared they may believe that the end of a marriage (and the end of family as they knew it) is the end of LOVE. And I want them to be certain my love is a FOREVER thing.