I could feel the pressure, my skin becoming tight, my breath shallow and cold, the room too full of her memory. And I would go, from corner to corner, wall to wall, choosing, oh so carefully, the pictures to be put away. I nestled them in drawers between spare candle holders, foreign coins, old crayons and the like, possibly useful objects that will someday be stored in the attic. I would never send them straight to “storage” without having them rest in the holding place first, the place that gives me the illusion of possibility, and with that, accessibility. She […]
Death of a Child
Couple Grieves Lost Child at Different Pace
Monday, January 31, 2011