
Dear Charles,
Nothing new here. Nothing earth shattering. No new revelations. Just that raw, ugly momma grief.
There’s no new way to frame it or say it.
Images of you flash through my brain like a slide show. Snippets of your life play like an old movie–scenes from when you were a baby, a toddler, a 10 year old, a teen, and since it’s your birthday month, scenes from all those parties and broken piñatas.
And finally, that image of you as “Saturday Charles.” You with that buffalo plaid shirt you loved. That giant grin and your boundless … Read more...