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

it.

She didn’t ask any more questions. She handed me my keys.

At the first red light on the way to the school, I looked at the small wooden bird hanging from my rearview mirror. Owen had made it in shop class for Mother’s Day the previous spring, about four months before everything fell apart. The wings were slightly uneven. The beak curved in the wrong continue reading …