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Today is Holden’s twenty-fifth birthday. There is cold potato where my heart should me, my throat has forgotten how to swallow, and once again my brain cannot make sense of this. There should be balloons,…
Writer
Today is Holden’s twenty-fifth birthday. There is cold potato where my heart should me, my throat has forgotten how to swallow, and once again my brain cannot make sense of this. There should be balloons,…
Canada Day long weekend is a rough one for me, for our family. There is a building heaviness like the whump of low pressure before a storm. The rain and mercury sky make perfect sense. …
When a friend delivered the brown cardboard banker’s box from the Vancouver Police evidence warehouse my reflex was to tear the lid off and see if my son was inside. Or rather – – what…