I remember one night shortly after Shawn died not wanting to read to my kids. Everything seemed pointless…even reading books…especially reading books. Why read stories? We only die in the end? Why learn? Why enjoy? Why wonder? Why try to comprehend. It was a struggle for me to pick up a children’s book. I had no interest. I remember reading out of automatic habit.
Tonight I read to my kids and enjoyed it. I noticed the inflections in my voice as we flipped through the story. How does that happen? How does life come back again?
