Around this time, every year, I await a mother’s declaration of love for her dead son. As he did on January 11, in his tweet. “10 years without this face, without this voice, without this thought, without this love, without this light.” I find the laments of the bereaved and their honest clichés more touching than loud. Good writers prose who are actors class. Perhaps the origin of human language was in sadness. Some years Susan Swartz’s message is shorter. “9 years, 9 YEARS,” he tweeted last year. “It is unbelievable that 8 years have passed. BUY my darling boy,” she wrote before. A mother doesn’t need birthdays to remember her son. So, “6 years, 2 months. GET MY DEAR GUY!’ His messages are always accompanied by an image of a smiling young man or a picture of him when he was a child.