When You’re Hurting At Christmas

When You’re Hurting At Christmas

I drive the car into the parking lot, his lanky frame, dressed in black, waits. My heart feels heavy as he opens the door and quietly gets in. My husband asks how he’s doing and I listen to their exchange. My son. He’s 15 now 

When You’re Hurting At Christmas

When You’re Hurting At Christmas

  I drive the car into the parking lot, his lanky frame, dressed in black, waits. My heart feels heavy as he opens the door and quietly gets in. My husband asks how he’s doing and I listen to their exchange.   My son.