Two Weeks After Our Baby Died, My 8-Year-Old Whispered, “Mom, She Isn’t Gone—I Saw What Daddy Did at the Hospital”

“I hope so.”

“Me too.”

He looked at the photograph of Lucas holding her.

“Then she wasn’t alone.”

That sentence gave Lucas more comfort than anything I could have said.

Not absolution.

Comfort.

Different.

PART 51 — CLARA’S FIRST BIRTHDAY AFTERWARD

I almost skipped it.