Mother Griever I feel your cry.
Sit her beside the wave of try--try to be normal, try to be okay with the thick and the pain of loosing our greatest gain.
Children die. Our children died. No matter the age, the piece remains frayed. We do learn but the fog is so thick and demanding that we feel still and lame in our attempts to be anything but hardened.
We love fiercely, even when it looks bleak.
We do not falter the harshness of being a mother--real, whole, scared and sold on our children.
Mother Griever you are...
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