Two Weeks After Our Baby Died, My 8-Year-Old Whispered, “Mom, She Isn’t Gone—I Saw What Daddy Did at the Hospital”
“What lady?”
“The one near the elevators.”
I sat on the edge of his bed.
“Tell me exactly what you remember.”
He rubbed his hands against his shorts.
“Grandma Brenda went to get coffee.
I was supposed to stay in the chair.”
This had been the night of my emergency delivery.