My name is Theresa, and I am sixty-three years old.
I’ve been a widow for most of my adult life.
When my husband died, my daughter Mary Lou was still small enough to fit on my hip. From that day forward, it was just the two of us against the world.
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My name is Theresa, and I am sixty-three years old.
I’ve been a widow for most of my adult life.
When my husband died, my daughter Mary Lou was still small enough to fit on my hip. From that day forward, it was just the two of us against the world.
Grief taught me how to live with the unthinkable after losing my daughter. I never expected a phone call from her school two years…