Wednesdays were horrible for us. Elizabeth Leigh Rowan, our youngest daughter, died on a Wednesday. There's really no easy way to put that--no comforting blanket of words to wrap that statement in to avoid the sting. It is just there. Kathryn and I faced that harsh reality every day--every moment. The soul crushing hurt of the loss of a beloved child, the breathtaking ache of moments lost, memories taken, hopes shattered. The foggy existence where you don't really feel connected to the world and its events, but also where you don't feel completely removed from them either. As a parent who has lost a child, you feel like you are in a constant mist of emotion, the edges are blurry and the light is slightly less brilliant. You slog through the day putting up your best front--trying hard to be "normal" and "strong"--when all you really want to do is wail and cry. You feel the nonsensical heavy guilt of not mourning Eli...
