I Promised My Son Forever—Then Cancer Made Me Count the Months

cold air and old leaves and the distant scent of someone grilling on a tiny portable thing at the picnic tables.

Normal.

It’s so painfully normal.

Leo bolts toward the playground like he’s been shot out of a cannon, but he stops halfway, turns, and runs back.

He throws his arms around my waist and squeezes.

“Thank you, Momma,” he says into my jacket.

Five-year-olds continue reading …