My son died over 40 years ago on July 6, 1972. He was 7 and had been living in a home for the handicapped. He'd been at home with us when this picture was taken (sitting in front). I was a young divorced single mother with a full-time job and was the sole provider of my other two kids; the twin brother of my son that died and my daughter, the first born.
In the week leading up to that day, a dark cloud had hung over me. I couldn't ascribe a reason to it and although I was accustomed to feelings of disproportionate malaise, this was decidedly different. It was visceral.