After My Son’s Suicide, I’m Learning to Navigate Emotional Minefields in My Home
Maybe, over time, the ephemera of Jack’s life will become less explosive, like a landmine whose triggering mechanism has eroded, rendering it harmless.
that’s okay, you managed to do ityou couldn’t possibly have slept in the house where you heard that gunshot, ran up those stairs, and found your son lifeless on his bed just hours earlier.
What must it be like to live only in the present
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I’m stockpiling sweaters because they signify refuge, collecting them like talismans though grief cannot be avoided.
I whisper to my great-grandmother a burden I’d like lifted, one she might take to the next world with her.