Forty years ago, my wife died and left me with three little children.
Eight months later, my only sister died in a car accident and left behind four more.
I was thirty-five when somebody at the funeral asked what would happen to them.
Four frightened kids sat together on a couch. Ryan, the oldest, was eleven. My own three stood nearby.
People thought grief had damaged my brain.
Seven children who had lost a mother between them.
« I’ll take all four, » I said.
People thought grief had damaged my brain.
Continue on the next page:
