Your last day on Earth, we spent together as a family of four. You and your brother had a mild tummy bug, so we turned on Christmas movies. I sat…
You will make it. Even at times when everything is wrong, when you are bewildered to find…
To my little Henry sunshine,
I dip my toe in the grief and slowly, slowly, start to swim through the familiar pain. It is exquisite, with sharp edges, piercing in new…
Wherever you are, I hope that it is:
There are no monsters, I promised, but it didn’t keep you from running into our bed every night. I…
In the first days of grief, you will fold in on yourself, you will bend and stretch and never feel at home. You will escape to your bed but…
Today you should be 4 and I have no more words.
“Can I hold your hand,” you ask me in the movie theater, and I blush with all the teenage love I feel for you. We hold hands and I still, to this…
On November 9, we were laying on baby blue bedding in baby blue pajamas, blowing kisses to your dad and brother, away on their camping trip…