Winter Garden

by Kristin Hannah

“Young has nothing to do with love. A woman can be a girl and still know her own heart.”

So with empty arms and a heart turned to stone, I leave my son there, all by himself, lying dead in a cot by the door, and once again I start to walk. I know that all I will ever have of my son now is a date on the calendar and the stuffed rabbit that is in my suitcase.

The ache of loss is with me always, tempting me to close my eyes.

the pain is unendurable.

And maybe that was how it was supposed to be, how life unfolded when you lived it long enough. Joy and sadness were part of the package; the trick, perhaps, was to let yourself feel all of it, but to hold on to the joy just a little more tightly because you never knew when a strong heart could just give out.

I am a lucky woman. I did not always know that, but I do now.