My grief counselor told me the first year after losing a child would make me unrecognizable to myself, and she was right — the woman who sat across from my mother-in-law at Thanksgiving and said nothing while she blamed me for everything was not the woman who had quietly placed every medical record, every voicemail, and every prayer journal into a box labeled for my daughter’s future.
My mother-in-law, Diane, stood at the head of my Thanksgiving table and told fourteen people…
