
Confession: sometimes I look over at one of my sons rolling in the grass, or over at my daughter eating her Popsicle in the evening twilight, and something heavier than the sky slams into my chest like a cannonball.
Confession: sometimes I look over at one of my sons rolling in the grass, or over at my daughter eating her Popsicle in the evening twilight, and something heavier than the sky slams into my chest like a cannonball.