And for eleven months, neither did I, and I went to a grief group on Thursdays, and I told about fourteen people over the course of that year that my son had died in the delivery room, and every single one of those sentences is out there in the world and cannot be recalled.

That is the part that gets me at two in the morning.

Not the box.

Not the date.

The fourteen people who were kind to me about a thing I had wrong.

Part Three: The Second of March

I have almost nothing of it and I have made my peace with that, more or less, with help.

What I have is this.