Losing my son has made me appreciate my other children even more. I understand that life is not guaranteed, even to the young and wonderful. I understand that every single moment is a moment that will never come back, so I have to enjoy it while I can.
You are trying to pretend that you are on just another mother-daughter shopping trip. But the stakes have never been this high. Prom? Hah. Wedding dress? Who cares. This is about life with a capital L. You are terrified.
With little outdoor experience and a tendency to run as anxious as my daughter, at the time I had researched what to do if you encounter a bear in the woods.
Telling my young kids their father had died was probably the worst thing I have ever had to do.
In the depth of my grief, I found poignant gratitude for the opportunity to have experienced such deep love for a furry friend.
We discuss, we talk, we make a plan to apologize for mistakes, to ask for forgiveness. It’s all he can do.
Last week a friend of mine sent me a picture of her 16-year-old son’s grave. She finds comfort in visiting and what struck me was the dirt.
By Kathy Glow. I know about too late, and it guts you.
By Jessica Watson. Since losing our daughter, I don't have it in me to manage the craziness of big parties and the hustle and bustle of all the holiday happenings that made up our life before.
Your baby, that baby that you see right there with the beating heart and the perfect tiny hands and feet, is going to die and no amount of wishing me dead or mute or skipping your appointment or begging for a do-over is going to change that. Off you go now, the dog needs to be let out. There are dishes in the sink. You can’t leave the kids with your friend forever.
