How I Remember The Shape of My Child

Ana at age 14 — Photo by author

In the early days after , I didn’t see her anywhere, so I held onto my grief as tightly as possible. The deep ache in my heart, the endless emptiness of the spaces where she used to be, the longing — all of it hurt, but it was the only thing about Ana that was real.

It was too hard to stay in that place of deep pain, no matter how much it seemed to keep me connected to Ana.