Seven years. Seven years later and I still don’t know whether I should be calling next weekend Ezra’s birthday or his death anniversary.

The thing about the birthdate since my son died is that it's turned into a thing. Like a real "thing." Odd. Unsettling. I don't like it.

Sacred Sorrows introduces "Roberta," our newest contributing writer. Roberta Bazaldua resides in Arizona and fills her days servicing the...

Today is my son Chad’s birthday - and he would have been 33 years old. But he isn't, because he died.