A wish come true…
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46 days. And counting…
The relentless raining down of our current condition…
On the nights you cannot breathe
“…fragile like a flower; fragile like a bomb.”
When Poppy says she’s leaving…
Surgery, sanity, and 8 little fingers.
We’re Boston bound, baby!
Dear well-meaning friends, family, therapists, doctors, and strangers…
That night, again.
