I thought of Lily holding red cloth to her cheek.

I thought of a five-year-old whispering into a hospice hush.

I thought of six hundred people standing because they finally understood they had been watching a sister graduate in the only body still able to walk for her.

People still ask me if I was afraid that night.

Yes.

I was afraid of phones, of cruelty, of my son being reduced to a joke.