…the train I take to work hit someone.
The memory didn’t go away overnight. It would come back unexpectedly, mixing up a cocktail of those awful feelings that poured into my heart like black ink.
When he lands in my lap I hug him close. “Babies are so perfect, aren’t they?” The little one settles against me, a warm compact weight that fills me with gladness.
What if changing the way you saw things followed the same simple pattern we set forth as kids playing basketball?