How is it possible that THREE times this week I've been brightly asked: "how's your baby?" (Um...DEAD) Not malicious, just oblivious. It's hard to imagine that nine and a half months later there is anyone left in the universe who hasn't heard my screams from the rooftops. MY PRECIOUS SON DIED!!!
And how is it possible this question no longer melts me into a pool of tears? Calmly and precisely I clarify. I've grown such thick skin.
When did the rough sharp edges of my grief settle into the core of my being? My what a journey this has been.
the Stirrup Queen's Completely Anal List of Blogs That Proves That She Really Missed Her Calling as a Personal Organizer
Scotland, Part Two
1 day ago