I picture your grandma walking with you around our property, embodying patience and grace as she watches you toddle around, stopping to explore and examine every. single. thing.
I am a mother.
I am a daughter.
I am a mother who has lost her daughter and a daughter who has lost her mother.
There’s no Hallmark card for this.
Are there seasons in Heaven, Norah? Do you get to feel the heat of summer sun on your skin or be refreshed by a deep breath of crisp fall air? Do you get to make snow angels in the winter that provide a place for the first blades of springtime grass to peek through?