My youngest child was just six and the thought of what life he’d have when he was my age haunted me. It was all too much. I was on overload, and I took to bed. I cried often and didn’t want my kids to see. I had a hard time interacting with them lest grief overtake me. I wasn’t eating or sleeping. Weeks passed with only marginal functionality on my part, and I knew I had to do something.