I Buried My Son 10 Years Ago – When I Saw My New Neighbors' Son, I Could Have Sworn He Looked Like Mine Would If He Were Alive Today
I Buried My Son 10 Years Ago – When I Saw My New Neighbors' Son, I Could Have Sworn He Looked Like Mine Would If He Were Alive Today My son, Daniel, died when he was nine years old. He was playing with a ball near the school gate when a car turned too fast from a side street. One moment he existed in the world, and the next he didn’t. The grief of losing a child never truly goes away. It’s a wound that eventually scabs over but leaves a scar in your heart forever. For years after Daniel died, I still turned my head whenever I heard boys laughing down the street. For half a second, I would expect to hear a ball bouncing in the driveway. People told me to have another child. They said it might help ease the pain. But I didn’t have the heart for it. So Carl and I became quiet people living in a quiet house, and for the most part, that was okay. Then one day, a moving truck pulled up next door. Carl stood by the front window watching it. “Looks like we’ve got neighbors agai...