I came back from a business trip, and the first thing my seven-year-old son said was, “Don’t go into my room.” Of course, I went in anyway.

box.

The sight of it stole the next question from my mouth.

My mother had died when I was 19. She had been sick for nearly a year, but my father disappeared before the end. He said he could not handle watching her get worse.

Lauren and I stayed. We took turns feeding her, washing her hair, and sitting beside her when the pain became unbearable.

After the continue reading …