When my son, Charles died by suicide on June 5, 2015, my house was elbow-to-elbow full of people by June 7 every day from 11 am-5 pm. That went on for a week. And I was grateful.
Family and friends surrounded me with love and the Southern tradition of dropping by, bringing barbecue, booze, and boxes of tissues. The hugs, food, and flowers from people’s gardens were what got me through that first tragic week and the funeral that followed seven days later was packed with mourners.
I thought there were … Read more...