SEETHING was I, when at the first opportunity to really sob, I had a social worker barge in and start talking process. I lashed back at her in the most assertive way my emotions could allow. With tears streaming down my face and my nose running, cradling Nathanael’s body, I said, “I’m sorry, but does this have to happen now? This is the first opportunity I’ve had to really be sad. Would you leave us alone, please? Thank you.” Only eighteen hours beforehand had we met our deceased son. And…
