Two Years and Three Months Later

It’s interesting – some might say that after more than two years, it’s about damn time that some forward motion happen with my grief, that I should have stopped talking about my daughter’s stillbirth ages ago. But I firmly believe that is it is because I refused to grieve in any way other than my own – openly, vulnerably, saying her name, expressing my pain, entertaining discomfort – that I am now moving forward at precisely the right time for me. . . .    Today I'm writing  over...