To touch your face. To hear your voice I listen for sounds on the stair that only you made. I lie in bed and run through the night you died over and over; I sent you a text, I woke at 11 and noticed you still weren't home. . . in those moments you were alive. Those moments threaten to haunt me.  I struggle to know the answers. I struggle to find purpose. . .how do you live life without your son? What do you do with the memories? Where do you go when the hurt threatens to engulf? Today is the anniversary of the Sandy Hook shootings. Don't we all remember exactly ... View Post