Sometimes I will be thinking about how I will never see Lev again, of the things he will never get to do and see. And from the back of my mind, like a faint echo, comes a thought: "Really? Are you sure? Can that be true?" It is genuine confusion. Part of my mind is in utter denial and refuses to accept what happened.
And then I remind myself: my son is in a small wooden box. He is dead, and will never live to see another day on this beautiful earth again.
