That Day in May
In the past, I enjoyed it. Cards. Hugs. Gifts. Love. Until the unthinkable happened. I wanted to rub it off the calendar. Remove the merchant ads. Silence the cheery greetings at church. But it couldn’t be done. It’s not that I’m a mother hater. It’s just that I’m a wounded mama. Sure, I can recite spiritual truths and Scriptures that should encourage me. And, to a point, they do. But in the end, my son is still dead, and I carry a loss that will never fully heal this side of
