So Nothing Was Forgotten

I started writing so nothing was forgotten. Middle of the night. In cars. Airports. Anywhere for a quiet few minutes.

Then I started to relive the joys grief erases first. To remember what I’d forgotten. To put my anger somewhere it could be heard.

A memoir of my son’s death, and an investigation into how it happened. Some of it is grief. Some of it is evidence.

First piece coming soon.