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240 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 3, 2019
Three in the bed. One not yet born, another dead, and I'm alive.
I didn't know how to talk to a two-year-old about death. We only had fifteen minutes left of the appointment. I didn't want to go home, didn't want to stay here. I couldn't remember the name of the man sitting opposite me, but he was the person who was to help me come up with the most important story of my life. A story I'd have to tell my own child.
I hadn't needed my mum like this since I was a child. I waited for her to comfort me or tell me to pull myself together, tell me that my children might be my responsibility but I was hers, and she wasn't about to let the world end on her watch.
The worst part about the first Christmas as a widow wasn't that Lasse wasn't there. It was writing the tags for the presents. Two sad little poems.
To Elmer from Mum.
To Kaj from Mum.
We'd lost the same person, but we hadn't suffered the same loss.