Project Moon Shot
My Megan
Dear Mr. Vice-President,
“I’m sick, Mom.”
That whisper from my daughter’s lips hit my ears harder than the sound of fireworks on the 4th of July, 2004.
From the giddy laughter of the little neighborhood pyromaniacs as they ignited their pop bottle rockets to the cry from the kitchen that said, “Who made the baked beans?” sounds were swirling around me. But my life as I knew it stopped…
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