Three weeks after burying my newborn son, I gave everything I had purchased for him to a struggling mother with a baby. For the first time since he died, I slept through the night. But before sunrise, dozens of baby strollers covered my lawn—and what I found inside them made no sense at all.
Morning light slipped through the dusty blinds in Noah’s nursery, casting long, pale lines across the crib that had never held him.
I remained in the doorway, unable to enter and equally unable to leave.
Three
