MY SON DIED of cancer. Sorry to ambush you, but there's no sugarcoating a child's death.
THE SUMMER AIR WAS COLD and windy in Ocean Shores, Washington, on the last Saturday of July 2014.
ON THE MORNING OF HALLOWEEN, two days after my dad's birthday, I was pulled out of my third period math class to find my mother waiting 20 feet away from the school front office.
WE HAD BEEN MESSAGING back and forth for a week before Daniel repurposes a popular and cheesy song lyric to ask if I would be interested in grabbing coffee.
IN THE WAITING ROOM of Children's Hospital of Orange County, it's 5:41 a.m. and quiet. The hospital staff take deep breaths in this calm before the daily storm, treasuring the small sounds of shuffling feet and subdued conversation.