My Son Brought

seemed to tear through him.

I held his hand and let him cry in the pharmacy parking lot on Christmas Eve while the world outside pretended to be holy.

When he was done, he wiped his face with his sleeve and looked embarrassed.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I hate that I care.”

“I know.”

“I really hate it.”

“I know, baby.”

He leaned his head against the seat.continue reading …