Two years after my little boy d.i.e..d, the only pieces of him I had left were carefully preserved in a cedar chest I guarded like treasure. When my mother-in-law tossed it in the dumpster and called his belongings “garbage,” I swore I’d make her regret it. And I did it right in front of the whole family. My name is Hannah, though most people just call me Han. I’m 30 years old, and two years ago, my world stopped turning when I lost my son, Oliver. He was five years old, bright-eyed, endlessly curious, with the kind of laugh that wrapped itself around your heart and refused to let go….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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