Death Without a Funeral

I still remember climbing into the backseat of my friend’s car to head to the mall for an afternoon of shopping. I was twenty-six years old and a new mom, so the chance to get away for a couple hours was welcome. As I plopped down behind my two friends seated in front, I was met with smiles and excited chatter and pop music cranking through the radio. We exchanged the typical niceties (“how-are-you?” and “tired-but-good”). I put on my seatbelt, and we drove away from my house – dancing, laughing, and singing along to whatever song came through the speakers. 

They never knew I had spent that morning crying so hard I almost threw up.

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