By Megan Hanlon
My parents both died in February, nine years and three feet of snow apart.
If I had known that’s when they’d go, I would have chosen a different birth month for my firstborn. He was too small to carry the weight of all that loss packed like duffel bags on either side of him.
And if he’d known the way flakes will fall in that gray month, the way grief can drift and blow and bury one alive, maybe he would have chosen someone else to be delivered to—perhaps a bright blooming flower instead of a sea of white cold.
Stunningly beautiful.
Very powerful Megan. Great comparison of the weight of loss to duffel bags robbing the new-born of joy.
Beautiful and sad. Undertones of hope despite despair.
A truly sad story wonderfully written.
This is stunning & heartbreaking, Megan
But he is the luckiest boy because you are his mom and recognize the tenderness he brings to that month and life.
So beautifully perfectly written. Heartbreaking.