Threads of sorrow, threads of hope

Threads of sorrow, threads of hope

And so I folded back the meticulously knitted arms – barely bigger than my thumb – and tucked under the hood with the twin minute functional drawstrings. And I gingerly placed that little woolen packet of broken-hearted yearning in a barren drawer in our vacant nursery, praying I’d have reason, someday, to take it out again.

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A rocket ship will bring her home

A rocket ship will bring her home

You can’t imagine what will come after your life is seized by the reality that your child is dead. You don’t know the pain will get worse. You don’t know how dark the nights will be between the hours of 1am and 4am, when your rational self will be taken over by an imposter who imagines all the ways that you and everyone you love is going to die.

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