In 2019 my mom died. In 2020 we had a family suicide, a botched burial, and a catastrophic pandemic. Now, I’m looking ahead to 2021 — with (gasp!) hope.
I promised myself I wouldn’t, but then I opened up to a writer I’ve long admired about the most surreal, unbelievable thing that has ever happened to me.
A few weeks before Thanksgiving, my 12-year-old son went out to play in the rain and never came home. That year, everything about the holiday just felt wrong.