The Chair He Bought, The Dog They Tried to Take, and the Choice

Grief is a living thing.

And sometimes the only way out is through.

I reached out and touched my son’s sleeve.

“I’m still here,” I whispered. “And so is he.”

Michael nodded, wiping his eyes roughly.

Then he did something that made my throat close up completely:

He looked at Caleb and said, “Thank you.”

Caleb’s face softened.

He just nodded once. “Yeah.”

Not continue reading …