March 16, 1983: I remember that evening with striking clarity. My mom pulled up in our Mustang, the engine roaring louder than usual, as if the car itself carried the weight of the news. She was crying uncontrollably while trying to say the words: My dad, a fighter pilot, had been declared missing in action.…
They beat to circulate blood. The rhythmic beating tells us that we’re alive. It beats faster when you’re in love, and it stops when you’re in despair. I heard hearts beat yesterday afternoon. I heard three hearts to be exact. I heard a mother’s, and her child’s, and the third one? It was beating a…
