Dear Sir, I don’t know your name, but you killed my father on June 9, 1973, in Stockton, California. My father was thirty-two years old
We’ve all heard the story of loss. We’re familiar with the stages of grief. Shock, anger, eventual acceptance. But what happens when this isn’t just an abstract process? When it’s real.
“And I know it aches and your heart it breaks and you can only take so much…. Walk on.” -U2, Walk On It was my
“How long has it been? When is he going to get over that grief and move on already?” I get it. I know you might be thinking that about
My husband died a year ago today. I will not refer to it as an anniversary. To me, Anniversaries are happy occasions and to remember
When my wife was dying from cancer…one of the cleaning ladies…who didn’t even speak much English….brought her a small stuffed animal her mother had hand