The Waiting Room
If my life is a bus station waiting room, then you are the passengers who moved in and never left. …
If my life is a bus station waiting room, then you are the passengers who moved in and never left. …
I watch as the ashes move from the clay pot to my forehead. A few fall down on my face, …
I’ve got the what ifs tonight, the night after Hank turned 16. And Jack didn’t. I don’t often let myself …
I’ve been reflecting on my words lately. The words I’ve written about the death of my son. The words I’ve …