There was just no good way for a dead son to greet his mother almost two weeks after his funeral.

He was half again my size, but when we embraced, I felt like I was holding him up, and it was all I could do to remain standing. He buried his face in my hair, his body shaking against me with the spasmodic rhythm of unrestrained sobs. It was almost more than I could bear gracefully.

Unfortunately, unless the job description included a translation of the prologue of The Canterbury Tales, I was dreadfully under-qualified.

Change your mind about playing doctor?" "No, but I hear candy-striper uniforms are pretty cute.

Of every moment I've ever not-lived through, this one is the best

...sometimes compassion is the greater part of honor.

He took both of my hands, twisting to face me more fully on the flattened box beneath us, and again the colors in his irises seemed to pulse with my heartbeat.