He wore a bright apple green tee shirt. He was probably about 10 years old, slight in build with mid brown hair. His shoulders were hunched and he clung to his mother’s hand as they came into the church entrance hall. His eyes were red and he had obviously been crying quite a lot.
As his mother made her away across the narthex toward the tables full of photos and other small items, he held back a little – as though afraid. He cuffed His nose with his wrist and his mother put her arm around his shoulder. He . . . → Read More: Vignettes: Young Grief
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