I spent my morning looking through the stacks of cards and letters sent to us when Sloan died. There are hundreds. I read through as many as I could handle, taking in once again, just how deeply my son’s life and loss affected so many.
Most of these I haven’t set my eyes on since I initially opened their envelopes in those early days after his death. It’s been a bit of immersion therapy I didn’t realize I needed. These tangible bits of other strangers hearts and emotions, tied to my son, and written on paper. It’s so painfully beautiful.