I buried my son ten years ago – when I saw my new neighbors’ boy, I was certain he looked exactly like mine would have if he were still alive today.

couldn’t measure, trying to understand what had just happened to me.

I heard them processing it, too — muted voices that didn’t carry through the door well enough for me to make out what they were saying to each other.

Then I turned and ran back home.

Carl was in the living room when I got back, reading. He looked up when I came in.

“You’re back already?continue reading …