My thirteen-year-old son Owen drowned in a lake last month during a fishing trip with my husband

that has no clean name — the devastation of a mother who cannot kiss her child’s face one final time, who has no place to go and stand and be near him.

Owen was officially declared gone without a body to bury.

I broke badly enough that our family doctor had me admitted for observation for several days. Charlie handled the funeral arrangements because continue reading …