Kinttu ami oor hath soriea dilam aar oor mena gulo chuste suru korlam. O uttejonai sitkar diea uthlo. Aar bollo please Sitesh chhere dao ami aar parch...i na. Ami tokhon aar ki chharbo amar Bara tokhon pant take tabu baniea dieachhe. Ami amar shirt pant khule diea sudhu jangiea pore oor mena tipte thaklam. Abar ami ooi abosthai oor komore uthe bose oor mena tipte thaklam. O chokh bondho kore sudhu moja nite laglo.Ghore AC cholchhe tao o amra dujonei gheme gechhi. Ami oor mena chuste chuste oor. In that moment, I made sounds I’d never even imagined I could make, I wailed and cried harder than I had ever thought was possible. Ryan, our youngest child and only son, my little boy, was gone. I held his limp form against my chest tightly, rocking back and forth in the chair automatically, not sure who or what that rocking motion was supposed to comfort or ease…in any case, it didn’t work. But then, in that moment, nothing could. Barbara was holding our now crying daughters, trying to get. More

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