Our son died in a car accident when he was just 16.
He was smart. Curious. A little shy, like his father, and loved to draw. He’d just finished painting a mural in his school’s hallway a week before the accident.
The kind of son you don’t expect to lose.
When he died, everything shattered. The world around me blurred, grief hanging like a curtain that wouldn’t lift.
But what I remember most in those early days wasn’t my pain.
It was my husband, Sam’s, silence.
Continue reading…
