In the weeks after losing my daughter Lily, life felt impossivable. Every corner of our home carried traces of her laughter, her art supplies, and the little sunflower sketches she loved to draw. My husband was still healing from the accident, and I drifted through each day as if the world had turned gray. One foggy morning, as I sat alone in the quiet kitchen holding a mug she had decorated for Mother’s Day, I heard our dog Baxter scratching urgently at the back door. His behavior was unusual enough that I followed him into the yard, still half-wrapped in grief and unable to imagine that anything could break through it. Continue reading…
