After Losing My Newborn Son, I Gave Everything I’d Bought Him to a Mother Begging With Her Baby—The Next Morning, My Lawn Was Covered in Dozens of Strollers, Each Holding a Sealed Box

else to go.

I pressed a trembling hand over my mouth.

I reached for the next stroller, the next box.

Another blanket, and a knitted elephant toy.

Another letter.

This one began:

Our son Owen was stillborn at thirty eight weeks…

Another letter.

The third letter began: We lost twins…

The fourth: I never thought I’d survive burying my little girl…

By the sixth continue reading …