When I came home from the hospital I saw that her dirty laundry pile had been cleaned and neatly folded in the drawers of our dresser—my hands shook as I touched the soft cashmere of her favorite sweater and I sunk to my knees burying my face in her scent—it was at this moment I new she was truly gone

You can feel their ribs break after doing chest compressions for a certain amount of time—the amount of guilt I’ll forever feel in knowing they were in my hands—and the sound their parents make after will never leave your soul—at night when I try to fall asleep I can still hear the wails ringing in my ears—Its been years and I still celebrate their birthday with my family and wonder who you could’ve become