I lost my son at five years old. But what my mother said as they lowered his tiny casket broke me in a different way…
I still remember the sound of the autumn wind scraping across the cemetery lawn the day we buried my son. The sky over Portland, Oregon, was a washed-out gray, the kind that makes everything look colder than it already feels. Daniel’s white casket looked impossibly small, almost like it didn’t belong among the grown-up graves…