March 13, 2020
Anne and I went walking. A man got out of his truck with his two boys. The younger boy was swinging a stick. The older boy was getting his backpack. I looked at Anne. “I used to have two boys.”
I looked back at them. The man had put his hand on his older son’s head.
Anne said, “You still have two. It’s just that one of your boys has died.”
“But I will never get to touch my older son’s head again. That used to be me, but it will never be that way again.”
