Archive for August, 2014

What He Knows of Kindness

I pour myself a mug of coffee and take the milk from the refrigerator. He has the dishwasher opened, and he reaches his whole body over the door, horizontal, to grab a clean spoon. He stands on his tip toes to slide the spoon onto the counter, next to my milky coffee.

“Here, Mom,” he says. “I thought you needed this.”


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Grief, pragmatic

He sends me a message, urgent: “I have a question.”

“Of course,” I type.

“Quick,” he writes. “Where do you find burial clothes for an infant?”

The question is as sad as the answer.

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