Once again, your birthday comes up on the horizon, and once again the empty space in my damaged heart is filled with deep searing agony and loss. Once again, I cannot breathe…

I don’t believe in miracles, and the idea of Christmas miracles always has me pooh-poohing into my latte. But…

Mommy is home! Yay! I hope she does not have water leaking from her eyes like she did when she went out to that work she goes to.

Oh! My name is Baby. Mommy tells everyone my name is something else, so I know Baby is my secret name. Mommy calls me Baby and when she says it her voice is soft and makes me warm, so I know Baby is my special name.