As Mother's Day approaches, my stomach begins to ache. It's a familiar, if old pain, tucked away in my soul, born of the loss of my son, Dan, killed at the age of 22 while working as Reuters photojournalist in Somalia more than 17 years ago.
"My mom is always like 'I can't believe you got drunk and then drove our new car into a lake again'. I'm like fuck you! I like to party! You're just mad because you can't party as hard as me! Delta Chi forever!"