We’ve had the picture on the side of the fridge for years. It was printed out from the animal shelter’s website, and it shows the puppy that we would eventually adopt standing in a bowl of water on the cement floor of the enclosure that she was in with her brothers and sisters. A little Lab/Shepard mix that the volunteers had named “Norma.”

Gracie had been looking at that picture just before she came out to sit with me while her mom made dinner.

“Did Marilyn die?,” she asked.

“Yes, she did. It was very sad.” I answered.

“I loved her. I have a picture with her on Christmas.”

“She loved you, too. You were her baby.”

And then she looked over at the 100 pound lab puppy chewing on a rawhide bone in the middle of the living room floor, “Dan was her boyfriend!”

I attempted to explain how Dan wasn’t born while Marilyn was alive, but these sorts of time lines are still a little hard for a four-year-old to grasp.

“Maybe…” I could see the wheels turning in her little head, “Maybe we could hold Marylin up and Dan could kiss her!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but it doesn’t work like Snow White.”

And we hugged.

Then she asked how Marilyn had died. I explained that she was very sick.

And then came a question that I wasn’t prepared for, one I’d never even thought about. “Did she know she was going to die? Right before, did she know?”

“I’m not sure. I suppose so.”

And it got more uncomfortable when she asked, “Are you going to die? Like, after you grow up?”

“Yes, I will. But it’s really not something I’d like to think about.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Let’s talk about something else.” phew! “Let’s talk about DISNEYLAND!!!”