to teach us how to continue living.
Each year on his death anniversary, Lily selected a vase.
I bought red roses.
We placed them in the living room and shared one funny memory of Daniel.
That was our tradition.
One story.
One laugh.
Regardless of how painful it felt.
I’d purchased the roses at Denver International Airport because tomorrow morning would be busy. I didn’t want to search Chicago for flowers while Lily wondered why I’d forgotten Daddy.
Now the stems were bent.
My daughter slept in my arms.
And
