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 know what Toby saw.

I know what we misunderstood.

I know what we hid.

I know what we repaired.

And I know now that love does not protect people by deciding which truths they are allowed to carry.

Love tells the truth as gently as it can.

Then stays beside them while they decide what to do with it.