“It’s been 30 years, “he said turning the page in his calendar.  “30 years …” his voice trails off into the purgatory of what might’ve been.

Parents are not meant to survive their children. And yet there are many who exist in this backward world, having outlived those who should be our legacy. Life’s natural rhythm is flipped for us – because of … who cares what took them. They’re gone we have outlived those who should have laid us to rest. Biological, step, adoptive or other, our children are meant to mourn us. It’s wrong for us to weep on their graves.

“I thought that I might just crawl into her tiny grave with her,” he shared when he told me of the infant daughter he’d lost.

I dropped to my knees, quite literally, when I learned of my child’s demise.

Decades later we were still standing. Unsteadily on days. On others, strong because life is for the living. We owe it to ourselves, our loved ones—both those who remain and the others who should be here – to find a way to put one foot in front of the other and live the life we’re given. Even if we do so with a crater in our hearts where our children are immortalized as if in amber.

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