fresh start
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Some friendships are builtover coffee,late-night phone calls,and inside jokes. Ours was builtinside hospital rooms,waiting rooms,cemeteries,and the unbearable silencethat follows hearing,“I’m sorry.” We learned each other’s griefbefore we learnedhow to survive it. Our first babiesarrived almost together.So did the losses. Your arms learnedthe impossible weightof saying goodbye to Thorgan. Mine learnedwhat it meantto hold MaKennafor only…
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Every storyhas a first page. Ours wasn’t writtenwith grand speechesor dramatic beginnings. It was writtenwith a five-year-old’s smile, a sleeping newborn, and a mothertrying to memorizeevery tiny detailbefore time could steal it away. If I’d knownhow quickly little hands grow,how swiftly babies become boys, I might have held my breatha little longer. But maybe that’s…
Between Bruises and Blooms 