Forget that you once loved them, that of your body they were born. For one short day, forget your children; afterwards, weep. Though you kill them, they were your beloved sons.
-- Euripides, Medea
No town said sadder prayers than Union, South Carolina, last week. The easiest prayers were for the father who had lost his sons; rather harder for the mother who had surely lost her mind. But the hardest of all were for the boys. Dear God, let them have been asleep that night, snuggled in the safety of their car seats. That way they wouldn't have felt the...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
