This was different, as if years of life had seeped into the walls, mixing and mingling into a scent that could only be found here, in this house where my mother grew up.
Something about the arrival of a new year can put a crack in your wall of fear. As trite as it may sound, it really can provide a fresh start to begin anew.
I sat there waiting for the real part of me to taste the wafer, but it never did. I thought maybe there was something wrong with that part of me.
For the parents, obviously. And not only after a long day or during a playdate.
Without Joseph Richard Cromwell Jr., I would not be Joseph Richard Cromwell IV.
The real lesson of 9/11 emerged: everything can change forever, every year, out of what, on closer inspection, is never really the clear blue.
The magic of a white Christmas is snow’s power to cover age, dirt, and pain.
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